She  3.  li.  HtU 

Eibranj 


M54 


Nnrtb  (Earnlina  #>tatr 


S00688203    R 


This  book  is  due  on  the  date  indicated 
below  and  is  subject  to  an  overdue  fine 
as   posted  at  the  Circulation   Desk. 


MAY  o  1 1986 


MO  f  3  1993 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
A  NATURE  GUIDE 


'•    -  "SB, 


^ 


W  iNfr  * 


Crater  Lake 


Pboto  by  h'rtJ II .  h i-tr 


THE  ADVENTURES 

of  a 

NATURE  GUIDE 

BY 
ENOS  A.  MILLS 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1923 


COPYRIGHT,   1920,  BY 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

All.  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF 

TRANSLATION  INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES, 

INCLUDING  THE   SCANDINAVIAN 


PRINT1  I)  IN  THE  1  N  IT1  D  BTA1 1  I 

\  r 

THBO  I  NTRY  I  IFE  PR]  B8,  GARDEN  niv,  N.  Y 


TO 

ELIZABETH  FRAYER  BURNELL 

A  Nature  Guide 


The  illustration  shown  on  the  wrapper 
of  this  book  is  reproduced  with  the  kind 
permission  of  Mr.  Fred  Kiser,  of  Port- 
land, Oregon,  who  holds  the  copyright 


PREFACE 

The  individual  interested  in  the  world  of  out- 
doors, in  many-sided  natural  history,  finds  enter- 
tainment everywhere  in  the  wilderness,  through  all 
the  seasons.  Storm,  sunshine,  night,  desert,  stream, 
and  forest  are  crowded  with  waiting  attractions 
and  moving  scenes. 

To  have  the  most  adventures  and  the  greatest 
enjoyment  in  a  given  time,  ramble  the  wilds  alone 
and  without  a  fishing-rod  or  a  gun.  The  rambler 
is  free  to  wander  afar  and  to  enjoy  the  multitude 
of  adventures  that  come  thick  and  fast  upon  him. 
The  wilderness  being  the  safety  zone  of  the  world 
these  experiences  are  likely  to  be  less  dangerous 
than  staying  at  home.  The  hunter,  however, 
armed  and  killing,  multiplies  dangers,  and  in  giving 
his  attention  to  game  wanders  but  little  and  enjoys 
less  variety  and  fewer  adventures. 

The  chapters  in  this  book  are  filled  with  the  ex- 
periences and  adventures  which  came  to  me  as  a 
solitary  and  unarmed  camper  in  the  wilds  of  the 
continent.  These  and  other  experiences,  together 
with  inheritances  not  so  tangible,  produced  definite 
results;  I  became  a  mountain  climber  and  a  peak 
guide.  In  doing  this  I  developed  nature  guiding, 
that  is,  helping  people  to  become  happily  acquainted 
with  the  life  and  wonders  of  wild  nature. 


x  PREFACE 

The  people  of  the  United  States  have  within 
the  past  generation  created  national  parks,  state 
parks,  city  parks,  and  made  wild-life  reservations, 
recognizing  their  higher  values  to  people,  for  their 
uses  in  education,  recreation,  and  hopefulness.  I 
wish  that  every  park  had  a  nature  guide  and  that 
every  wild  place  might  early  become  a  park. 

There  now  are  a  number  of  Cabinet  positions, 
each  with  a  secretary  to  control  and  direct  its  work. 
But  is  it  not  time  to  have  a  Directory  of  Parks  and 
Recreation,  something  for  all  time  and  for  all  peo- 
ple? Instead  of  one  man  directing  this  there 
should  be  a  number,  a  board  of  directors,  who  are 
directly  responsible  to  the  public.  This  should  be 
a  department  separate  from  and  independent  of  all 
Cabinet  positions  and  should  outrank  them. 

A  number  of  these  chapters  were  written  es- 
pecially for  this  book.  I  appreciate  the  courtesy 
of  the  editors  in  allowing  me  to  reproduce  the 
articles  which  appeared  in  the  following  maga- 
zines: Snow-Blinded  on  the  Summit,  and  Trees  at 
Timberline,  in  Country  Life;  Waiting  in  the  Wil- 
derness, Censored  Natural  History  News,  Winter 
Mountaineering,  Children  of  My  Trail  School, 
and  Thunder  and  Lightning,  in  The  Saturday 
Evening  Post;  A  Day  With  a  Nature  Guide,  in 
The  Outlook;  Play  and  Pranks  of  Wild  Folk,  and 
Naturalist  Meets  Prospector,  in  The  American 
Boy;  The  White  Cyclone,  in  Outing;  and  Wind 
Rapids  on  the  Heights,  in  Harper's. 


CHAPTER 


CONTENTS 

I .  Snow-Blinded  on  the  Summit 

II .  Waiting  in  the  Wilderness    . 

III .  Winter  Mountaineering 

IV.  Trees  at  Timberline  .... 
V .  Wind-Rapids  on  the  Heights 

VI .  The  Arctic  Zone  of  High  Mountains 

VII .  Naturalist  Meets  Prospector    . 

VIII .  The  White  Cyclone     .... 

IX.  Lightning  and  Thunder  . 

X.  Landmarks 

XI .  Children  of  My  Trail  School     . 

XII .  A  Day  with  a  Nature  Guide 

XIII .  Play  and  Pranks  of  Wild  Folk 

XIV.  Censored  Natural  History  News 
XV.  Harriet — Little  Mountain  Climber 

XVI .  Evolution  of  Nature  Guiding     . 

XVII .  Development  of  a  Woman  Guide 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Crater  Lake Frontispiece 

FACIV 

The  White  Summit  of  the  Rockies       ....  s 

Climbing  Snowy  Steeps 9 

Snow  Before  the  First  Freeze          32 

A  Flower-filled  Opening  in  an  Aspen  Grove         .  3  j 

Sunset  on  the  Continental  Divide        ....  48 

Spruces  in  Four  Feet  of  Snow         49 

Sand-blasted  Limber  Pines So 

Englemann  Spruce  —  Shaped  and  Sheltered  by  a 

Boulder Si 

In  a  Wind  Rapid 96 

Cloud  Scenery  from  the  Narrows  on  Long's  Peak  97 

Across  Wild  Basin  to  Long's  Peak       ....  104 

Ptarmigan — "  Eskimo  Chickens  "        ....  104 

Gentleness   and   Grandeur  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tain National  Park 105 

Lodgepole  Pines  Cut  by  Beavers 105 

In  the  Land  of  Snow-slides 128 

In  a  Blizzard  on  the  Summit  of  the  Continental 

Divide 129 


Xlll 


xiv  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING   PAGE 


The  Home  of  the  White  Cyclone 144 

Mount  Copeland  and  Copeland  Lake,  Colorado  145 

Long's  Peak  and  Tahosa  Valley 160 

Where  Flowers  Crowd  the  Snows 161 

A  Newly  Made  Beaver  House  and  Pond         .      .  176 

In  a  Trail  School  Old  and  Young  Enthusiasti- 
cally Follow  a  Nature  Guide 177 

Black  Bear  Cubs,  Sequoia  National  Park       .      .  208 

The    Classic     Mariposa    Lily    of    the    Western 

Prairies 209 

Harriet  Peters  on  "  Top  " 224 

Natural  Bridge,  LTtah.     A  Product  of  Erosion     .  225 

Squaw  Grass  or  Bear  Grass,  Mount  Spokane       .  248 

The  Outlook  of  the  Woman  Guide       ....  248 

Winter  Haunts  of  the  Water-ouzel       ....  249 

The  Homesteader  and  Nature  Guide  ....  249 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
A  NATURE  GUIDE 


LET  the  moulders  of  public  opinion  in  the  chief 
subjects  usually  called  humanistic — history,  soci- 
ology, economics,  politics,  ethics,  religion — once 
they  come  to  see  how  fundamentally  soundness  of  view 
and  healthfulness  of  life  in  all  these  domains  are  de- 
pendent upon  correct  elementary  information  about 
nature,  and  innumerable  students  of  educational  prob- 
lems, teachers,  and  public-spirited  and  philanthropic 
persons  concentrate  their  thought  and  ingenuity  upon 
surmounting  the  practical  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
securing  the  contact  with  nature  which  'is  indispens- 
able to  such  information  and  attitude. 

— Dr.  William  E.  Ritter. 


CHAPTER  I 

SNOW-BLINDED    ON   THE    SUMMIT 

4  S   I   climbed  up   out  of  the  dwarfed  wood. 

l-\  at  timberline  in  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
and  started  across  the  treeless  white  sum- 
mit, the  terrific  sun  glare  on  the  snow  warned 
me  of  the  danger  of  snow-blindness.  I  had  lo  t 
my  snow  glasses.  But  the  wild  attractions 
of  the  heights  caused  me  to  forget  the  care  of 
my  eyes  and  I  lingered  to  look  down  into  canons 
and  to  examine  magnificent  snow  cornices. 
A  number  of  mountain  sheep  also  interested 
me.  Then  for  half  an  hour  I  circled  a  con- 
fiding flock  of  ptarmigan  and  took  picture  after 
picture. 

Through  the  clear  air  the  sunlight  poured  with 
burning  intensity.  I  was  12,000  feet  above  the 
sea.  Around  me  there  was  not  a  dark  crag  nor 
even  a  tree  to  absorb  the  excess  of  light.  A  wilder- 
ness of  high,  rugged  peaks  stood  about — splendid 
sunlit  mountains  of  snow.  To  east  and  west  they 
faced  winter's  noonday  sun  with  great  shadow 
mantles  flowing  from  their  shoulders. 

As  I  started  to  hurry  on  across  the  pass  I  began 
to  experience  the  scorching  pains  that  go  with 


4   THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

scared,  sunburnt  eves — snow-blindness.  Unfortu- 
nately, I  had  failed  to  take  even  the  precaution 
of  blackening  my  face,  which  would  have  dulled 
the  glare.  At  the  summit  my  eyes  became  so 
painful  that  I  could  endure  the  light  only  a  lew 
seconds  at  a  time.  Occasionally  I  sat  down  and 
closed  them  tor  a  minute  or  two.  Finally,  while 
doing  this,  the  lids  adhered  to  the  balls  and  the 
eyes  swelled  so  that  I  could  not  open  them. 

Blind  on  the  summit  of  the  Continental  Divide! 
I  made  a  grab  tor  my  useful  staff  which  I  had  left 
standing  beside  me  in  the  snow.  In  the  fraction 
of  a  second  that  elapsed  between  thinking  of  the 
staff  and  finding  it  my  brain  woke  up  to  the  seri- 
ousness of  the  situation.  To  the  nearest  trees 
it  was  more  than  a  mile,  and  the  nearest  house  was 
many  miles  away  across  ridges  of  rough  mountains. 
I  had  matches  and  a  hatchet,  but  no  provisions. 
Still,  while  well  aware  of  my  peril,  I  w:as  only 
moderately  excited,  feeling  no  terror.  Less  start- 
ling incidents  have  shocked  me  more,  narrow 
escapes  from  street  automobiles  have  terrified  me. 

It  had  been  a  wondrous  morning.  The  day 
cleared  after  a  heavy  fall  of  fluffy  snow.  I  hid 
snowshoed  up  the  slope  through  a  ragged,  snow- 
carpeted  spruce  forest,  whose  shadows  wrought 
splendid  black-and-white  effects  upon  the  shining 
floor.  There  were  thousands  of  towering,  slender 
spruces,  each  brilliantly  laden  with  snow  flowers, 
standing  soft,  white,  and  motionless  in  the  sunlight 


SNOW-BLINDED  ON  THE  SUMMIT  $ 

While  I  was  looking  at  one  of  these  artistically 
decorated  trees,  a  mass  of  snow  dropped  upon  me 
from  its  top,  throwing  me  headlong  and  causing  me 
to  lose  my  precious  eye-protecting  snow  gla 
But  now  I  was  blind. 

With  staff  in  hand,  I  stood  for  a  minute  or  two 
planning  the  best  manner  to  get  along  without 
eyes.  My  faculties  were  intensely  awake.  Seri- 
ous situations  in  the  wilds  had  more  than  once  he- 
fore  this  stimulated  them  to  do  their  best.  Tem- 
porary blindness  is  a  good  stimulus  for  the  imagina- 
tion and  the  memory— in  fact,  is  good  educational 
training  for  all  the  senses.  However  perilous  my 
predicament  during  a  mountain  trip,  the  possibility 
of  a  fatal  ending  never  even  occurred  to  me.  L<  »<  >k- 
ing  back  now,  I  cannot  but  wonder  at  my  matter- 
of-fact  attitude  concerning  the  perils  in  which  that 
snow-blindness  placed  me. 

I  had  planned  to  cross  the  pass  and  descend  into 
a  trail  at  timberline.  The  appearance  of  the  slope 
down  which  I  was  to  travel  was  distinctly  in  my 
mind  from  my  impressions  just  before  darkness 
settled  over  me. 

Off  I  slowly  started.  I  guided  myself  with  in- 
formation from  feet  and  staff,  feeling  my  way  with 
the  staff  so  as  not  to  step  off  a  cliff  or  walk  over- 
board into  a  canon.  In  imagination  I  pictured 
myself  following  the  shadow  of  a  staff-bearing  and 
slouch-hatted  form.  Did  mountain  sheep,  curious 
and  slightly  suspicious,  linger  on  crags  to  watch 


6   THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

my  slow  and  hesitating  advance?  Across  the 
snow  did  the  shadow  of  a  soaring  eagle  coast  and 
circle? 

I  must  have  wandered  far  from  the  direct  course 
to  timberline.  Again  and  again  I  swung  my  staff 
to  right  and  left  hoping  to  strike  a  tree.  I  had 
travelled  more  than  twice  as  long  as  it  should  have 
taken  to  reach  timberline  before  I  stood  face  to 
face  with  a  low -growing  tree  that  bristled  up 
through  the  deep  snow.  But  had  I  come  out  at  the 
point  for  which  I  aimed — at  the  trail?  This  was 
the  vital  question. 

The  deep  snow  buried  all  trail  blazes.  Making 
my  way  from  tree  to  tree  I  thrust  an  arm  deep  into 
the  snow  and  felt  of  the  bark,  searching  for  a  trail 
blaze.  At  last  I  found  a  blaze  and  going  on  a  few- 
steps  I  dug  down  again  in  the  snow  and  examined 
a  tree  which  I  felt  should  mark  the  trail.  This,  too, 
was  blazed. 

Feeling  certain  that  I  was  on  the  trail  I  went 
down  the  mountain  through  the  forest  for  some 
minutes  without  searching  for  another  blaze.  When 
I  did  examine  a  number  of  trees  not  another  blaze 
could  I  find.  The  topography  since  entering  the 
forest  and  the  size  and  character  of  the  trees  were 
such  that  I  felt  I  was  on  familiar  ground.  But 
going  on  a  few  steps  I  came  out  on  the  edge  of  an 
unknown  rocky  cliff.  I  was  now  lost  as  well  as 
blind. 

During  the  hours   I   had  wandered   in  reaching 


SNOW-BLINDED  ON  THE  SUMMIT  7 

timberline  I  had  had  a  vague  feeling  that  I  might 

be  travelling  in  a  circle,  and  might  return  to  trees 
on  the  western  slope  of  the  Divide  up  which  I  had 
climbed.  When  I  walked  out  on  the  edge  of  the 
cliff  the  feeling  that  I  had  doubled  to  the  western 
slope  became  insistent.  If  true,  this  was  most 
serious.  To  reach  the  nearest  house  on  the  west 
side  of  the  range  would  be  extremely  difficult, 
even  though  I  should  discover  just  where  I  was. 
But  I  believed  I  was  somewhere  on  the  eastern 
slope. 

I  tried  to  figure  out  the  course  I  had  taken.  Had 
I,  in  descending  from  the  heights,  gone  too  far  to 
the  right  or  to  the  left?  Though  fairly  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  country  along  this  timberline, 
I  was  unable  to  recall  a  rocky  cliff  at  this  point. 
My  staff  found  no  bottom  and  warned  me  that  I 
was  at  a  jumping-off  place. 

Increasing  coolness  indicated  that  night  was 
upon  me.  But  darkness  did  not  matter,  my  light 
had  failed  at  noon.  Going  back  along  my  trail  a 
short  distance  I  avoided  the  cliff  and  started  on 
through  the  night  down  a  rocky,  forested,  and  snow- 
covered  slope.  I  planned  to  get  into  the  bottom 
of  a  canon  and  follow  downstream.  Every  few 
steps  I  shouted,  hoping  to  attract  the  attention  of 
a  possible  prospector,  miner,  or  woodchopper.  No 
voice  answered.  The  many  echoes,  however,  gave 
me  an  idea  of  the  topography — of  the  mountain 
ridges  and  canons  before  me.     I  listened  intently 


8  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

after  each  shout  and  noticed  the  direction  from 
which  the  reply  came,  its  intensity,  and  the  cross 
echoes,  and  concluded  that  I  was  going  down  into 
the    head    of   a    deep,    forest-walled    canon,  and,  I 

hoped,  travelling  eastward. 

For  points  of  the  compass  I  appealed  to  the  trees, 
hoping  through  my  knowledge  of  woodcraft  to 
orient  myself.     In  the  study  of  tree  distribution 

I  had  learned  that  the  altitude  might  often  he  ap- 
proximated and  the  points  of  the  compass  deter- 
mined by  noting  the  characteristic  kinds  of  trees. 

Canons  of  east  and  west  trend  in  this  locality 
carried  mostly  limber  pines  on  the  wall  that  fares 
south  and  mostly  Engelmann  spruces  on  the  wall 
that  faces  the  north.  Believing  that  I  was  travel- 
ling eastward  I  turned  to  my  right,  climbed  out  of 
the  canon,  and  examined  a  number  of  trees  along 
the  slope.  Most  of  these  were  Engelmann  spruces. 
The  slope  probably  faced  north.  Turning  about 
I  descended  this  slope  and  ascended  the  opposite 
one.  The  trees  on  this  were  mostly  limber  pines. 
Hurrah!  Limber  pines  are  abundant  only  on 
southern  slopes.  With  limber  pines  on  my  left 
and  Engelmann  spruces  on  my  right,  I  was  now 
satisfied  that  I  was  travelling  eastward  and  must 
be  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  range. 

To  put  a  final  check  upon  this — for  a  blind  or 
lost  man  sometimes  manages  to  do  exactly  the  op- 
posite of  what  he  thinks  he  is  doing — I  examined 
lichen  growths  on  the  rocks  and  moss  growths  on 


SNOW-BLINDED  ON  THE  SUMMIT  9 

the  trees.  In  the  deep  canon  I  dug  down  into  the 
snow  and  examined  the  faces  of  low-lying  boulders. 
With  the  greatest  care  I  felt  the  lichen  growth  on 
the  rocks.  These  verified  the  information  that  I 
had  from  the  trees — but  none  too  well.  Then  I 
felt  over  the  moss  growth,  both  long  and  short,  on 
the  trunks  and  lower  limbs  of  trees,  but  this  tes- 
timony was  not  absolutely  convincing.  The  moss 
growth  was  so  nearly  even  all  the  way  around  the 
trunk  that  I  concluded  that  the  surrounding  topog- 
raphy must  be  such  as  to  admit  the  light  freely 
from  all  quarters,  and  also  that  the  wall  or  slope 
on  my  right  must  be  either  a  gentle  one  or  else  a 
low  one  and  somewhat  broken.  I  climbed  to  make 
sure.  In  a  few  minutes  I  was  on  a  terrace — as  I 
expected.  Possibly  back  on  the  right  lay  a  basin 
that  might  be  tributary  to  this  canon.  The  re- 
ports made  by  the  echoes  of  my  shoutings  said  that 
this  was  true.  A  few  minutes  of  travel  down  the 
canon  and  I  came  to  the  expected  incoming  stream, 
which  made  its  swift  presence  heard  beneath  its 
cover  of  ice  and  snow. 

A  short  distance  farther  down  the  canon  I  ex- 
amined a  number  of  trees  that  stood  in  thick 
growth  on  the  lower  part  of  what  I  thought  was 
the  southern  slope.  Here  the  character  of  the 
moss  and  lichens  and  their  abundant  growth  on  the 
northerly  sides  of  the  trees  verified  the  testimony 
of  the  tree  distribution  and  of  previous  moss  and 
lichen  growths.     I  was  satisfied  as  to  the  points 


io    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

of  the  compass.  I  was  on  the  extern  side  of  the 
Continental  Divide  travelling  eastward. 

After  three  or  lour  hours  of  slow  descending  I 
reached  the  bottom.  Steep  walls  rose  on  both 
right  and  left.      The  enormous  rock  masses  and  the 

entanglements  of  fallen  and  leaning  trees  made 
progress  difficult.      Feeling  that  if  I  continued  in 

the  bottom  of  the  canon  I  might  come  to  a  precipi- 
tous place  down  which  I  would  be  unable  to  de- 
scend, I  tried  to  walk  along  one  of  the  side  walls, 
and  thus  keep  above  the  bottom.  But  the  walls 
were  too  steep  and  I  got  into  trouble. 

Out  on  a  narrow,  snow-corniced  ledge  I  walked. 
The  snow  gave  way  beneath  me  and  down  I  went 
over  the  ledge.  As  I  struck,  feet  foremost,  one 
snowshoe  sank  deeply.  I  wondered,  as  I  wiggled 
out,  if  I  had  landed  on  another  ledge.  I  had.  Not 
desiring  to  have  more  tumbles,  I  tried  to  climb 
back  up  on  the  ledge  from  which  I  had  fallen,  but 
I  could  not  do  it.  The  ledge  was  broad  and  short 
and  there  appeared  to  be  no  safe  way  off.  As  I 
explored  again  my  staff  encountered  the  top  of  a 
dead  tree  that  leaned  against  the  ledge.  Breaking 
a  number  of  dead  limbs  off  I  threw  them  overboard. 
Listening  as  the)'  struck  the  snow  below  I  con- 
cluded that  it  could  not  be  more  than  thirty  feet 
to  the  bottom. 

I  let  go  my  staff  and  dropped  it  after  the  limbs. 
Then,  without  taking  off  snowshoes,  I  let  myself 
down    the    limbless    trunk.     I    could    hear    water 


SNOW-BLINDED  ON  THE  SUMMIT  u 

running  beneath  the  ice  and  snow.  I  recovered 
my  staff  and  resumed  the  journey. 

In  time  the  canon  widened  a  little  and  travelling 
became  easier.  I  had  just  paused  to  give  a  shout 
when  a  rumbling  and  crashing  high  up  the  right- 
hand  slope  told  me  that  a  snowslide  was  plunging 
down.  Whether  it  would  land  in  the  canon  before 
me  or  behind  me  or  on  top  of  me  could  not  be 
guessed.  The  awful  smashing  and  crashing  and 
roar  proclaimed  it  of  enormous  size  and  indicated 
that  trees  and  rocky  debris  were  being  swept  on- 
ward with  it.  During  the  few  seconds  that  I 
stood  awaiting  my  fate,  thought  after  thought 
raced  through  my  brain  as  I  recorded  the  ever- 
varying  crashes  and  thunders  of  the  wild,  irresisti- 
ble slide. 

With  terrific  crash  and  roar  the  snowslide  swept 
into  the  canon  a  short  distance  in  front  of  me.  I 
was  knocked  down  by  the  outrush  or  concussion 
of  air  and  for  several  minutes  was  nearly  smothered 
with  the  whirling,  settling  snow-dust  and  rock 
powder  which  fell  thickly  all  around.  The  air 
cleared  and  I  went  on. 

I  had  gone  only  a  dozen  steps  when  I  came  upon 
the  enormous  wreckage  brought  down  by  the  slide. 
Snow,  earthy  matter,  rocks,  and  splintered  trees 
were  flung  in  fierce  confusion  together.  For  three 
or  four  hundred  feet  this  accumulation  filled  the 
canon  from  wall  to  wall  and  was  fifty  or  sixty  feel 
high.     The   slide  wreckage   smashed   the   ice   and 


12  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

dammed  the  stream.  As  I  started  to  climb  across 
this  snowy  debris  a  shattered  place  in  the  ice  be- 
neath gave  way  and  dropped  me  into  the  water, 
but  my  long  staff  caught  and  by  clinging  to  it  I  saved 
myself  from  going  in  above  my  hips.  My  snow- 
shoes  caught  in  the  shattered  iee  and  while  I  tried 
to  get  my  feet  free  a  mass  of  snow  fell  upon  me  and 
nearly  broke  my  hold.  Shaking  oil  the  snow  I 
put  forth  all  my  strength  and  finally  pulled  my 
feet  free  of  the  iee  and  crawled  out  upon  the  de- 
bris. This  was  a  close  call  and  at  last  1  was 
thoroughly,  briefly,  frightened. 

As  the  wreckage  was  a  mixture  of  broken  trees, 
stones,  and  compacted  snow  I  could  not  use  my 
snowshoes,  so  I  took  them  off  to  carry  them  till 
over  the  debris.  Once  across  I  planned  to  pause 
and  build  a  fire  to  dry  my  icy  clothes. 

With  difficulty  I  worked  my  way  up  and  across. 
Much  of  the  snow  was  compressed  almost  to  ice  by 
the  force  of  contact,  and  in  this  icy  cement  many 
kinds  of  w  reckage  were  set  in  wild  disorder.  While 
descending  a  steep  place  in  this  mass,  carrying 
snowshoes  under  one  arm,  the  footing  gave  way 
and  I  fell.  I  suffered  no  injury  but  lost  one  of  the 
snowshoes.  For  an  hour  or  longer  I  searched,  with- 
out finding  it. 

The  night  was  intensely  cold  and  in  the  search 
my  feet  became  almost  frozen.  In  order  to  rub 
them  I  was  about  to  take  off  my  shoes  when  I  came 
upon  something  warm.     It  proved  to  be  a   dead 


SNOW-BLINDED  ON  THE  SUMMIT  ,3 

mountain  sheep  with  one  horn  smashed  off.  VI 
sat  with  my  feet  beneath  its  warm  carcass  and  my 
hands  upon  it,  I  thought  how  but  a  few  minutes 
before  the  animal  had  been  alive  on  the  heights 
with  all  its  ever  wide-awake  senses  vigilant  for  its 
preservation;  yet  I,  wandering  blindly,  had 
caped  with  my  life  when  the  snowslide  swept  into 
the  canon.  The  night  was  calm,  but  of  zero  tem- 
perature or  lower.  It  probably  was  crystal  dear. 
As  I  sat  warming  my  hands  and  feet  on  the  proud 
master  of  the  crags  I  imagined  the  bright,  clear 
sky  crowded  thick  with  stars.  I  pictured  to  my- 
self the  dark  slope  down  which  the  slide  had 
come.  It  appeared  to  reach  up  close  to  the  frosty 
stars. 

But  the  lost  snowshoe  must  be  found,  wallowing 
through  the  deep  mountain  snow  with  only  one 
snowshoe  would  be  almost  hopeless.  I  had  vainly 
searched  the  surface  and  lower  wreckage  projec- 
tions but  made  one  more  search.  This  proved 
successful.  The  shoe  had  slid  for  a  short  distance, 
struck  an  obstacle,  bounced  upward  over  smashed 
logs,  and  lay  about  four  feet  above  the  general 
surface.  A  few  moments  more  and  I  was  beyond 
the  snowslide  wreckage.  Again  on  snowshoes, 
staff  in  hand,  I  continued  feeling  my  way  down  the 
mountain. 

My  ice-stiffened  trousers  and  chilled  limbs  were 
not  good  travelling  companions,  and  at  the  first 
cliff  that  I  encountered  I  stopped  to  make  a  tire. 


i4  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

I  gathered  two  or  three  armfuls  of  dead  limbs, 
with  the  aid  of  my  hatchet,  and  soon  had  a  lively 
blaze  going.  But  the  beat  increased  the  pain  in 
my  eyes,  so  with  clothes  only  partly  dried,  I  went 
on.  Repeatedly  through  the  night  I  applied  snow 
to  my  eyes  trying  to  subdue  the  fiery  torment. 

From  timberline  I  bad  travelled  downward 
through  a  green  forest  mostly  of  Engelmann  spruce 
with  a  scattering  of  fir  and  limber  pine.  I  fre- 
quently felt  of  the  tree  trunks.  But  a  short  time 
after  leaving  my  camp-fire  I  came  to  the  edge  of 
an  extensive  region  that  bad  been  burned  over. 
For  more  than  an  hour  I  travelled  through  dead 
standing  trees,  on  many  of  which  only  the  barb 
bad  been  burned  away;  on  otbers  the  fire  bad 
burned  more  deeply. 

Pausing  on  the  way  down,  I  thrust  my  staff  into 
the  snow  and  leaned  against  a  tree  to  hold  snow 
against  my  burning  eyes.  While  I  was  doing  this 
two  owls  hooted  happily  to  each  other  and  I  lis- 
tened to  their  contented  calls  with  satisfaction. 

Hearing  the  pleasant,  low  call  of  a  chickadee 
I  listened.  Apparently  he  was  dreaming  and  talk- 
ing in  his  sleep.  The  dream  must  have  been  a 
happy  one,  for  every  note  was  cheerful.  Realizing 
that  he  probably  was  in  an  abandoned  woodpecker 
nesting  hole,  I  tapped  on  the  dead  tree  against 
which  I  was  leaning.  This  was  followed  by  a  chorus 
of  lively,  surprised  chirpings,  and  one,  two,  three! — 
then  several — chickadees  Hew  out  of  a  hole  a  lew 


SNOW-BLINDED  ON  THE  SI  MMIT  15 

inches  above  my  head.  Sorry  to  have  disturbed 
them  I  went  on  down  the  slope. 

At  last  I  felt  the  morning  sun  in  my  face,  With 
increased  light  my  eyes  became  extremely  painful. 

For  a  time  I  relaxed  upon  the  snow,  finding  it 
difficult  to  believe  that  I  had  been  travelling  all 
night  in  complete  darkness.  While  lying  here 
I  caught  the  scent  of  smoke.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking it.  It  was  the  smoke  of  burning  aspen, 
a  wood  much  burned  in  the  cook-stoves  of  moun- 
tain people.  Eagerly  I  rose  to  find  it.  I  shouted 
again  and  again  but  there  was  no  response.  Under 
favourable  conditions,  keen  nostrils  may  detect 
aspen-wood  smoke  for  a  distance  of  two  or  three 
miles. 

The  compensation  of  this  accident  was  an  in- 
tense stimulus  to  my  imagination — perhaps  our 
most  useful  intellectual  faculty.  My  eyes,  always 
keen  and  swift,  had  ever  supplied  me  with  almost 
an  excess  of  information.  But  with  them  suddenly 
closed  my  imagination  became  the  guiding  faculty. 
I  did  creative  thinking.  With  pleasure  I  restored  the 
views  and  scenes  of  the  morning  before.  Any  one 
seeking  to  develop  the  imagination  would  find  a 
little  excursion  afield,  with  eyes  voluntarily  blind- 
folded, a  most  telling  experience. 

Down  the  mountainside  I  went,  hour  after  hour. 
My  ears  caught  the  chirp  of  birds  and  the  fall  of 
icicles  which  ordinarily  I  would  hardly  have  heard. 
My  nose  was  constantly  and  keenly  analyzing  the 


16  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

air.  With  touch  and  clasp  I  kept  in  contact  with 
the  trees.  Again  my  nostrils  picked  up  aspen 
smoke.  This  time  it  was  much  stronger.  Per- 
haps I  was  near  a  house!  But  the  whirling  air 
currents  gave  me  no  clue  as  to  the  direction  from 
which  the  smoke  came,  and  only  echoes  responded 
to  my  call. 

All  my  senses  worked  willingly  in  seeking  wire- 
less news  to  substitute  for  the  eyes.  My  nose 
readily  detected  odours  and  smoke.  My  ears 
were  more  vigilant  and  more  sensitive  than  usual. 
My  fingers,  too,  were  responsive  from  the  instant 
that  my  eyes  failed.  Delightfully  eager  they  were, 
as  I  felt  the  snow-buried  trees,  hoping  with  touch 
to  discover  possible  trail  blazes.  My  feet  also  were 
quickly,  steadily  alert  to  translate  the  topography. 

Occasionally  a  cloud  shadow  passed  over.  In 
imagination  I  often  pictured  the  appearance  of 
these  clouds  against  the  blue  sky  and  tried  to  esti- 
mate the  size  of  each  by  the  number  of  seconds  its 
shadow  took  to  drift  across  me. 

Mid-afternoon,  or  later,  my  nose  suddenly  de- 
tected the  odour  of  an  ancient  corral.  This  was  a 
sign  of  civilization.  A  few  minutes  later  my  staff 
came  in  contact  with  the  corner  of  a  cabin.  J 
shouted  " Hello !"  but  heard  no  answer.  I  con- 
tinued feeling  until  I  came  to  the  door  and  found 
that  a  board  was  nailed  across  it.  The  cabin  was 
locked  and  deserted !     I  broke  in  the  door. 

In  the  cabin  I  found  a  stove  and  wood.     As 


SNOW-BLINDED  ON  THE  SUMMIT  i7 

soon  as  I  had  a  fire  going  I  dropped  snow  upon  the 
stove  and  steamed  my  painful  eyes.  After  two 
hours  or  more  of  this  steaming  they  became  more 
comfortable.  Two  strenuous  days  and  one  toil- 
some night  had  made  me  extremely  drowsy.  Sit- 
ting down  upon  the  floor  near  the  stove  I  leaned 
against  the  wall  and  fell  asleep.  But  the  fire 
burned  itself  out.  In  the  night  I  awoke  nearly 
frozen  and  unable  to  rise.  Fortunately,  I  had  on 
my  mittens,  otherwise  my  fingers  probably  would 
have  frozen.  By  rubbing  my  hands  together, 
then  rubbing  my  arms  and  legs,  I  finally  managed 
to  limber  myself,  and  though  unable  to  rise,  I 
succeeded  in  starting  a  new  fire.  It  was  more 
than  an  hour  before  I  ceased  shivering;  then,  as 
the  room  began  to  warm,  my  legs  came  back  to 
life  and  again  I  could  walk. 

I  was  hungry.  This  was  my  first  thought  of 
jfood  since  becoming  blind.  If  there  was  anything 
to  eat  in  the  cabin,  I  failed  to  find  it.  Searching 
my  pockets  I  found  a  dozen  or  more  raisins  and 
with  these  I  broke  my  sixty-hour  fast.  Then  I 
had  another  sleep,  and  it  must  have  been  near 
noon  when  I  awakened.  Again  I  steamed  the 
eye  pain  into  partial  submission. 

Going  to  the  door  I  stood  and  listened.  A  camp- 
ibird  only  a  few  feet  away  spoke  gently  and  con- 
ifidingly.  Then  a  crested  jay  called  impatiently. 
'The  camp-bird  alighted  on  my  shoulder.  I  tried 
;to  explain  to  the  birds  that  there  was  nothing  to 


18  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

eat.  The  prospector  who  had  lived  in  this  cabin 
evidently  had  been  friendly  with  the  bird  neigh- 
bours.    I  wished  that  I  might  know  him. 

Again  I  could  smell  the  smoke  of  aspen  wood. 
Several  shouts  evoked  echoes — nothing  more.  I 
stood  listening  and  wondering  whether  to  stay 
in  the  cabin  or  to  venture  forth  and  try  to  follow 
the  snow-filled  roadway  that  must  lead  down 
through  the  woods  from  the  cabin.  Wherever 
this  open  way  led  I  could  follow.  But  of  course  I 
must  take  care  not  to  lose  it. 

In  the  nature  of  things  I  felt  that  I  must  be  three 
or  four  miles  to  the  south  of  the  trail  which  I  had 
planned  to  follow  down  the  mountain.  I  wished 
I  might  see  my  long  and  crooked  line  of  footmarks 
in  the  snow  from  the  summit  to  timberline. 

Hearing  the  open  water  in  rapids  close  to  the 
cabin,  I  went  out  to  try  for  a  drink.  I  advanced 
slowly,  blind-man  fashion,  feeling  the  way  with  my 
long  staff.  As  I  neared  the  rapids,  a  water  ouzel, 
which  probably  had  lunched  in  the  open  water, 
sang  with  all  his  might.  I  stood  still  as  he  re- 
peated his  liquid,  hopeful  song.  On  the  spot  I 
shook  off  procrastination  and  decided  to  try  to  find 
a  place  where  someone  lived. 

After  writing  a  note  explaining  why  I  had 
smashed  in  the  door  and  used  so  much  wood,  I 
readjusted  my  snowshoes  and  started  down  through 
the  woods.  I  suppose  it  must  have  been  late  after- 
noon. 


SNOW-BLINDED  ON  THE  SUMMIT  19 

I  found  an  open  way  that  had  been  made  into  a 
road.  The  woods  were  thick  and  the  open  road- 
way readily  guided  me.  Feeling  and  thrusting 
with  my  staff,  I  walked  for  some  time  at  normal 
pace.  Then  I  missed  the  way.  I  searched  care- 
fully, right,  left,  and  before  me  for  the  utterly  lost 
road.  It  had  forked,  and  I  had  continued  on  the 
short  stretch  that  came  to  an  end  in  the  woods  by 
an  abandoned  prospect  hole.  As  I  approached 
close  to  this  the  snow  caved  in,  nearly  carrying  me 
along  with  it.  Confused  by  blinded  eyes  and  the 
thought  of  oncoming  night,  perhaps,  I  had  not 
used  my  wits.  When  at  last  I  stopped  to  think  I 
figured  out  the  situation.  Then  I  followed  my 
snowshoe  tracks  back  to  the  main  road  and  turned 
into  it. 

For  a  short  distance  the  road  ran  through  dense 
woods.  Several  times  I  paused  to  touch  the  trees 
each  side  with  my  hands.  When  I  emerged  from 
the  woods,  the  pungent  aspen  smoke  said  that  I 
must  at  last  be  near  a  human  habitation.  In  fear 
of  passing  it  I  stopped  to  use  my  ears.  As  I  stood 
listening,  a  little  girl  gently,  curiously,  asked: 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  here  to-night ?" 


WAITING  in  the  wilderness,  that  is,  lingering 
in  a  spot  frequently  visited  by  wild  life,  appears  to  be 
one  of  the  easiest  and  most  delightful  ways  of  getting 
acquainted  with  nature  and  the  ways  of  the  wild. 

Going  repeatedly  to  the  same  place  means  the  visit- 
ing of  an  old  scene  in  which  changes  are  constantly 
taking  place  during  your  absence  and  in  which  the 
beginning  of  something  new  may  occur  while  you 
are  there.  So,  to  have  a  really  intimate  and  happy  ac- 
quaintance and  a  most  thorough  appreciation  of  the 
wild  world  stage,  one  must  revisit  the  same  stage  again 
and  again. 


CHAPTER  II 

WAITING    IN   THE    WILDERNESS 

THEY  were  a  pair  of  hairy  woodpeckers 
engaged  in  examining  a  fourteen-inch  dead 
aspen.  As  it  was  nesting  time  I  lingered  to 
watch  them.  After  taking  a  number  of  grubs 
from  beneath  the  bark  of  the  tree  the  birds  centred 
their  woodpecking  work  at  one  spot,  about  a  man's 
height  above  the  roots. 

Mrs.  Woodpecker  pecked  a  number  of  tiny  holes 
or  dots,  forming  a  circle  about  two  inches  in  diam- 
eter. Then  she  pecked  and  hammered  away 
within  this  circle.  Presently  this  space  began  to 
take  on  the  form  of  a  doorway  or  entrance  hole 
to  a  nest.  Chips  and  broken  bits  flew.  The  birds 
worked  rapidly,  one  at  a  time.  While  Mrs.  Wood- 
pecker worked  her  mate  watched  near  by  and  tried 
two  or  three  times  to  take  a  hand,  but  she  thrust 
him  aside  and  kept  on  pecking  and  hammering 
until  at  last  she  grew  tired  and  his  turn  came. 
After  three  hours  a  sizable  impression  was  made  in 
the  tree  and  both  birds  flew  away  into  the  aspen 
grove.  I  waited  half  an  hour,  but  they  did  not 
come  back.  After  spending  more  than  an  hour 
looking  over  a  beaver  house  on  the  bank  of  a  brook, 

23 


24  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

distant  a  stone's  throw,  I  returned  to  the  aspen, 
but  the  woodpeckers  were  still  away. 

The  aspen  grove  in  which  these  birds  were  work- 
ing stood  within  the  seclusion  of  a  mountain  forest. 
Near  by  ran  a  brook  from  west  to  east.  To  the 
south  of  the  brook,  behind  the  aspen  grove,  a  spruce 
forest  covered  the  slope.  On  the  north  a  pine  woods 
stretched  away.  Between  the  pine  wood  and  the 
brook  was  a  grassy  opening  with  a  pile  of  boulders. 
Through  the  grove  and  across  the  brook  ran  a  wild- 
life trail. 

Busy  was  the  life  in  the  woods.  I  had  frequent 
glimpses  of  wild-life  folk,  an  occasional  view  of  a 
one-act  play  in  which  any  number  of  performers 
took  lively  part.  Close  to  me  at  one  time  a  weasel, 
aggressive  as  a  lion,  killed  a  number  of  mice,  and  at 
another  time  I  saw  a  weasel  kill  a  chipmunk. 
Among  the  birds  and  small  animals  there  were 
comedies,  courtships,  feasts,  fights,  and  frolics. 
All  took  place  in  a  bit  of  the  wild  across  which  a 
primitive  man  could  have  hurled  his  spear. 

The  unexpected  often  happened.  The  hours 
never  dragged,  they  were  enlivened  by  a  succession 
of  incidents  and  episodes.  Again  and  again  I 
enjoyed  this  primeval,  poetic  place  for  hours, 
while  I  sat  unmoved  and  watchful  in  the  scene. 
Often  I  lay  on  a  log  or  on  the  ground,  or  hid  in  the 
bushes,  or  sometimes  simply  stood  like  a  stump. 
Wherever  I  might  be,  without  moving  I  let  ants 
crawl  over  me  and  insects  bite  me  as  they  would. 


WAITING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  25 

Frequently  there  was  a  shower  of  rain,  which 
when  not  accompanied  by  wind  or  lightning  had 
a  softening,  subduing  effect  upon  all  the  forest 
sounds. 

Two  days  after  I  had  first  observed  the  wood- 
pecker home-makers,  I  found  them  working  in- 
dustriously in  the  hole  which  was  now  more  than 
three  inches  deep.  Only  a  part  of  the  chips  flew 
out  of  the  hole  as  they  were  cut,  the  rest  were 
swept  out  from  time  to  time  by  Mr.  Woodpecker. 
This  feat  he  performed  by  leaning  back  and  turn- 
ing his  head  quickly,  his  bill  acting  as  the  broom. 

Woodpeckers  often  select  the  aspen  for  a  nesting 
site,  probably  because  of  its  soft,  easily  worked 
wood.  Frequently  they  take  dead,  partly  decayed 
trees,  in  which  nests  are  most  easily  made;  and 
dead  trees,  too,  often  are  filled  with  grubs,  ants, 
and  other  woodpecker  food. 

By  the  fifth  day  the  woodpeckers  had  cut  the 
hole  to  a  depth  of  about  seven  inches.  The  work- 
ers continued  at  their  task  and  finished  the  nest 
to  average  size.  After  excavating  seven  inches 
into  the  tree  the  entrance  way  curved  downward 
into  the  trunk  to  a  depth  of  about  twelve  inches, 
the  lower  section  having  a  diameter  of  six  inches. 
j  All  this  was  the  work  of  eleven  days. 

The  woodpecker's  nest  is  one  of  the  cleanest 
j  and  safest  and  probably  the  most  continuously 
j  comfortable  of  all  birds'  nests.  It  keeps  out  the 
!  rain  and  excludes  the  extremes  of  cold  and  heat. 


26  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

It  is  perhaps  less  likely  to  be  discovered  by  enemies 
than  the  nest  of  any  other  bird.  Rarely  does  an 
accident  befall  it.  What  a  strange,  cunning  place 
for  young  birds  to  grow  up  in!  How  interested 
they  must  be  the  first  time  they  climb  up  and  from 
the  doorway  peep  into  the  strange  wilderness 
world. 

Nearly  a  month  elapsed  before  I  was  again  in 
the  aspen  grove.  When  I  tapped  lightly  on  the 
woodpeckers'  tree  four  agitated  bills  were  thrust 
out  of  the  doorway.  But  as  they  saw  nothing  to 
eat  the  four  red-topped  youngsters  withdrew  their 
bills  and,  I  suppose,  settled  back  to  the  bottom  of 
the  nest.  Presently  one  of  the  old  birds  appeared, 
and  instantly  bills  receivable  were  again  presented 
through  the  doorway.  After  feeding  one  of  the 
youngsters  the  old  bird  eyed  me  for  a  moment 
with  a  peculiar  look — suggesting  curiosity,  how- 
ever, rather  than  fear.  It  flew  away  and  a  mo- 
ment later  its  mate  arrived  with  a  grub  in  its  bill. 

I  missed  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  young  wood- 
peckers leave  the  nest  and  make  their  baby  start 
in  the  wooded  world.  But  one  October  day  I  was 
back  in  the  grove  and  paused  to  watch,  as  usual, 
the  continuous  though  ever-changing  perform- 
ances. While  I  was  standing  near  the  nest  tree  a 
busy  chipmunk  climbed  up  and  peeped  into  the 
deserted  woodpecker  nest.  Then  he  climbed  up 
a  few  feet  higher,  went  round  the  tree  and  came 
back  to  the  nest.     After  several  times  thrusting  in 


WAITING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  27 

his  head  and  forefeet — each  time  withdrawing 
quickly  and  retreating  almost  to  the  grass — he 
finally  found  courage  and  bravely  entered.  Out 
rushed  a  frightened  field  mouse.  A  few  moments 
later  the  chipmunk  thrust  out  his  head  and  with 
feet  on  the  edge  of  the  entrance  hole  he  looked 
round  like  a  young  lion.  The  nest  became  his 
winter  quarters.  One  day  a  month  later  I  saw 
him  again  thrust  his  head  from  this  adopted  nest. 
Tracks  in  the  snow  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  showed 
that  he  came  out  occasionally. 

The  following  May  when  I  called,  a  pair  of  blue- 
birds were  striking  and  beating  at  the  chipmunk, 
who  was  clinging  to  the  tree  trunk  near  the  nest 
entrance.  The  chipmunk  finally  leaped  off  and 
retreated  into  the  grove,  with  the  birds  in  pur- 
suit. Again  and  again  I  came  to  linger  at  my  old 
place.  During  the  summer  five  baby  bluebirds 
were  raised  in  this  nest.  After  they  were  safely 
brought  off  and  taken  in  charge  by  Mr.  Bluebird, 
the  mother  bird  again  filled  the  nest  with  eggs. 

I  did  not  make  my  rounds  again  until  summer 
was  over.  When  I  returned,  the  chipmunk  who 
occupied  it  the  previous  year,  or  a  chipmunk  of  the 
same  species  and  about  the  same  size,  was  in  the 
nest.  More  likely  it  was  the  same  chipmunk,  for 
when  I  threw  a  peanut  to  him  he  made  haste  to 
pick  it  up — a  trick  he  had  learned  during  my  visits 
the  year  previous. 

The  next  spring  in  the  grove  I  heard  a  wren  sing- 


28  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

ing  with  all  his  might.  What  busy,  happy,  ag- 
gressive, and  confiding  little  folk  wrens  are !  I  was 
glad  when  I  found  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wren  would 
keep  house  for  the  summer  in  the  woodpecker  nest. 
A  robin  was  a  near  neighbour,  nesting  on  the  top 
of  a  high,  broken  pine  stump.  Often  while  I  lay 
or  stood  watching  the  wrens,  a  camp-bird — the 
Rocky  Mountain  gray  jay — came  to  see  me,  plainly 
with  the  hope  that  I  would  have  a  bite  of  some- 
thing to  offer.  Of  all  the  birds  that  I  have  seen, 
none,  on  first  sight,  is  so  trustful  of  man  as  is  the 
camp-bird. 

That  winter  and  the  following  summer  I  often 
saw  a  tiny  owl  come  out  of  the  woodpeckers'  old 
nest,  where  a  pair  of  owls  must  have  been  nesting, 
I  think.  Anyway,  for  more  than  a  year  it  was 
their  wooden-walled  home. 

That  year  a  pair  of  woodpeckers  had  a  nest  in 
the  upper  end  of  the  aspen  grove.  As  they  al- 
lowed me  to  approach  more  closely  than  other 
hairy  woodpeckers,  I  believe  they  were  my  former 
acquaintances  whom  I  had  watched  two  years 
before. 

In  the  upper  end  of  the  grove  another  pair  of 
hairy  woodpeckers  had  a  nest,  nearly  twenty  feet 
above  the  ground,  which  they  had  evidently  used 
for  three  summers  in  succession.  A  short  distance 
down  the  brook  I  one  day  came  upon  an  abandoned 
woodpecker  nest — probably  that  of  a  sapsucker. 
It  was  not  more  than  three  feet  above  the  ground. 


WAITING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  29 

Two  summers  later  it  was  occupied  by  a  pair  of 
hairy  woodpeckers. 

One  day,  hearing  a  rather  alarmed  "peek,  peek," 
and  thinking  that  something  was  happening  to  one 
of  the  woodpeckers,  I  made  haste  to  the  brook, 
where  I  saw  two  kingfishers  looking  upstream.  The 
alarm  cry  of  these  birds  is  very  like  that  of  the 
hairy  woodpecker.  There  on  a  log  sat  a  mink, 
evidently  the  cause  of  the  excitement.  The  view 
I  had  of  these  kingfishers'  heads  as  they  stood  up 
reminded  me  of  the  heads  of  two  football  players. 
Returning  from  this  inspection  I  was  astonished  to 
see  a  flicker  alight  on  the  nest  tree  and  take  a  peek 
into  the  doorway  of  the  woodpecker  nest.  The 
arrival  of  one  of  the  bird  owners  made  him  take  a 
hurried  leave. 

There  are  three  hundred  and  fifty  known  species 
of  woodpeckers  in  the  world.  They  are  found 
nearly  everywhere  that  there  are  trees  and  in  a  few 
treeless  places.  I  believe  that  there  are  no  wood- 
peckers in  Australia.  Of  the  twenty-five  species 
found  in  North  America  one  of  the  smaller  and 
more  common  is  the  hairy  woodpecker.  He  is  a 
valuable  bird  and  saves  many  a  tree  from  insect 
death. 

The  Rocky  Mountain  hairy  woodpecker  has  a 
length  of  about  nine  inches.  Although  he  is 
whitish  beneath,  with  grayish  legs,  the  general 
effect  when  he  is  at  rest  is  blackish.  The  outer 
tail  feathers  are  white-tipped  and  the  wings  show 


30  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

spots  of  white.  Just  above  and  below  the  eye  is  a 
narrow  white  stripe,  and  a  narrow  white  and  red 
stripe  crosses  the  back  of  the  head.  The  young- 
sters commonly  have  a  reddish  top. 

The  food  of  the  hairy  woodpecker  consists  of 
wood  borers,  spiders,  moths,  ants,  and  occasionally 
berries.  Though  they  summer  and  nest  in  high 
altitudes — often  nearly  eleven  thousand  feet  above 
sea-level — they  commonly  descend  the  mountains 
with  the  approach  of  winter  and  spend  the  cooler 
months  among  the  foothills.  The  Rocky  Moun- 
tain hairy  woodpecker  is  not  so  fond  of  living  in 
orchards  and  being  near  people  as  is  his  cousin  the 
downy.  Although  human  visitors  to  his  home 
region  do  not  annoy  him  he  plainly  enjoys  the 
seclusion  of  pathless  forests. 

These  woodpeckers  probably  mate  for  life,  and 
are  quietly  devoted,  enjoying  each  other's  company 
without  demonstration.  For  a  week  or  two  in 
late  spring  Mr.  Hairy  Woodpecker  is  noisy  enough. 
He  simply  fills  the  woods  with  drumming,  drum- 
ming. 

He  calls  and  calls  merrily,  with  many  a  change 
of  tone.  Often  it  is  keak-keak-keak-kick-kick, 
whit-whit-whit-whi-wi-wi-i-i-wi.  But  as  soon  as 
the  white  eggs  are  laid — there  are  from  three  to 
six  in  number — he  does  his  full  share  of  incubating 
them. 

I  was  standing  in  an  open  space  one  day,  watch- 
ing the  movements  of  a  squirrel,  when  I  chanced 


WAITING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  31 

to  see  coming  toward  me  Mrs.  Skunk  and  three 
pretty  little  skunkies.  As  these  skunks  came 
closer  it  looked  as  though  I  might  move  shortly. 
They  were  walking  leisurely,  apparently  going  to 
a  definite  place,  and  all  carried  their  tails  elevated 
at  a  decorative  social  angle.  Naturally  I  did  not 
wish  to  dispute  their  right  to  the  trail.  I  held  my 
ground  from  sheer  will-power.  But  they  con- 
cluded to  take  a  little  passageway  about  six  feet 
in  front  of  me.  I  stood  like  a  statue  to  watch 
them  go  by.  In  passing  Mrs.  Skunk  tilted  her 
head  and  looked  at  me  out  of  one  eye,  but  without 
changing  her  pace  or  saying  anything  to  the  chil- 
dren, kept  on  her  way.  Nothing  happened,  but 
never  before  did  I  borrow  so  much  trouble  in  a  few 
seconds.  About  thirty  feet  beyond  me  Mother 
Skunk  paused  and  dug  out  a  mouse. 

Squirrels  were  about.  A  Fremont  squirrel  lived 
in  the  pines  to  the  south  of  my  watching  place, 
another  a  short  distance  to  the  north.  This  little 
gray  fellow  is  closely  related  to  the  Douglas  squirrel 
of  California.  He  is  one  of  the  smallest  of  the 
squirrel  family.  He  is  fiery,  curious,  and  wide- 
awake. He  has  as  much  courage  and  individuality 
to  his  inches  as  any  animal  I  have  ever  seen.  I 
often  heard  one  of  these  squirrels  as  he  clucked, 
chattered,  or  talked  to  himself.  Occasionally  he 
denounced  with  terrific  violence  a  passing  animal 
or  intruder. 

The  first  few  days  that  I  watched  proceedings 


32  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 
in  the  grove  the  squirrel  nearest  to  my  station 
showed  immense  curiosity.  He  was  unable  to 
make  out  what  I  was  about.  One  day  he  rushed 
at  me  and  with  a  savage  outburst  threatened  either 
to  devour  me  or  to  kick  me  off  his  premises.  As  I 
remained  silent  and  motionless  he  paused  in  aston- 
ishment. Then  he  backed  up  and  eyed  me  eagerly. 
Again  he  tried  bluff  and  denunciation.  At  last, 
doubtless  wondering  why  I  was  not  moving  and 
whether  I  should  remain  long,  he  gave  it  up, 
climbed  into  his  tree,  and  proceeded  with  his  own 

iff  UTS. 

One  day  when  a  swarm  of  bees  started  to  light 
upon  me  I  made  a  lively  retreat.  This  disturbed 
Mr.  Squirrel.  He  broke  out  in  volleys  of  peppery 
chatter  that  lasted  for  two  or  three  minutes,  then 
he  subsided  and  sat  looking  at  me.  I  imagined 
that  he  might  be  thinking  or  saying  to  himselt, 
"Well,  for  the  life  of  me,  this  is  something  I  cannot 

understand!"  . 

From  dawn  until  dusk  I  once  watched  the  activi- 
ties of  this  fellow.  Though  he  was  sometimes 
temporarily  out  of  sight  I  waited,  wondering  what 
the  next  move  would  be. 

He  climbed  into  the  tree-tops  and  cut  off  cones 
which  fell,  bounced,  and  rolled  away,  and  appeared 
to  try  to  land  where  he  could  not  find  them.  Often 
he  stopped  to  look  and  listen  and  make  sure  that 
no  outsider  was  capturing  his  cones.  _ 

My  squirrel  friend  had  a  sad  end.     Lightning 


jg 

1 

i. 

1 

p 

WAITING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  33 

one  day  struck  a  tree  frequented  by  him,  on  the 
south  side  of  the  stream,  and  killed  him.  The  bolt 
literally  knocked  the  head  off  this  tree  and  it  threw 
half  a  dozen  young  birds  out  of  a  nest  in  a  tree  near 
by.  Evidently  this  other  tree  had  been  struck 
twice  before.  A  few  years  previously  a  bolt  had 
run  down  one  side,  bursting  the  bark.  Through 
this  break  a  number  of  beetles  had  made  their  way, 
to  begin  work  on  the  vitals  of  the  tree.  But  Chief 
Surgeon  Woodpecker  was  often  there,  and  in  a 
length  of  sixteen  feet  along  this  broken  trunk  had 
made  sixteen  holes  and  had  probably  removed 
many  a  borer. 

Once  I  saw  a  large,  dignified  mountain  sheep 
walk  quietly  across  the  grassy  opening.  He  did  not 
see  me.  On  reaching  the  farther  edge  he  turned 
about,  recrossed  the  opening  to  the  boulder  pile 
and  leaped  upon  it.  After  remaining  there,  statu- 
esque, awhile,  he  reentered  the  woods,  stood  for 
a  moment,  and  then  disappeared. 

It  was  impossible  to  feel  lonesome.  Eyes  and 
ears  were  kept  busy  for  the  show  went  ever  on. 
It  was  a  one-ring,  a  three-ring,  sometimes  a  six- 
ring  show  all  at  once.  Too  often  a  number  of  ex- 
tra good  things  were  going  on  together.  A  squirrel 
would  be  up  to  something,  while  at  the  same  in- 
stant two  chipmunks  would  be  having  a  boundary- 
line  dispute.  Along  with  these  a  robin  might  be 
noisy  and  pessimistic  over  something  that  may  not 
have  happened,  while  a  rare  warbler  that  I  wanted 


34  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

to  see  was  darting  about  in  the  tree-tops,  and  a 
porcupine  was  waddling  by  with  dull  deliberation. 

The  birds  on  the  other  side  of  the  brook  one  after- 
noon set  up  a  great  ado,  as  if  some  enemy  were 
about  to  raid  them  or  some  other  terror  were  nigh. 
Of  them  all,  the  most  excited  and  pessimistic  was 
the  mother  robin.  She  flew  and  darted  about 
without  getting  anywhere,  all  the  time  predicting 
the  worst  possible  calamity.  When  things  had 
almost  calmed  down  a  broad-tailed  humming-bird 
came  flying  by,  scolding  hard,  plainly  much  put 
out  because  of  all  this  unnecessary  hullabaloo. 
After  darting  about  me  for  some  seconds,  with  her 
burnished  body  flashing  and  bead-like  eyes  shining, 
she  alighted  like  any  bird  on  a  neighbouring  limb. 
This  midget  made  a  comical  appearance,  aping, 
as  it  seemed,  all  the  poses  of  a  real  sized  bird. 

Once  I  looked  round  just  in  time  to  see  a  coyote 
leap  forward  and  land  upon  the  grass  with  fore- 
paws  together.  Presently  he  thrust  in  his  nose 
and  pulled  out  a  mouse.  At  this  instant  he  caught 
sight  of  me  and  edged  off  sideways,  eying  me 
intently.  He  was  not  frightened,  but  apparently 
could  not  make  out  what  I  was  or  what  I  was  doing. 
He  passed,  doubled,  and  repassed  near  by.  Then 
he  circled,  and  when  he  caught  my  scent,  sniffed 
the  air  but  still  was  not  alarmed.  He  stayed  to 
watch,  like  a  boy  in  no  hurry  who  had  found 
something  new.  In  the  edge  of  the  opening  he 
stretched  out  on  his  stomach  with  his  head  toward 


WAITING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  35 

me.  Occasionally  his  nostrils  twitched  a  little,  but 
at  no  time  did  he  look  upon  me  with  fear  or  sus- 
picion. Soon  sounded  a  whack  from  the  near-by  bea- 
ver pond,  as  if  a  beaver  had  dived,  and  a  second 
later  came  muffled  footfalls  through  the  forest  from 
the  opposite  quarter.  These  alarms  caused  Mr. 
Coyote  to  leap  up  all  alert,  and  presently  he 
hastened  away  among  the  shadows. 

A  number  of  deer  came  to  visit  the  place.  After 
eying  me  closely  from  a  distance  of  thirty  or  forty 
feet  they  lingered  to  look  round  and  to  take  an 
occasional  bite  to  eat.  They  were  curious  about 
me,  but  were  perfectly  at  ease,  for  they  had  not 
scented  me.  Another  day  three  deer,  which  had 
not  seen  me,  suddenly  caught  scent  of  me  and  were 
off  instantly.  Most  animals  rely  upon  their  noses 
for  chief  scout  duty  to  tell  them  when  to  flee  for 
safety.  Deer,  beavers,  and  sometimes  other  ani- 
mals which  saw  me  without  scenting  me,  simply 
took  a  brief  look  then  continued  their  affairs  in  a 
normal  manner;  but  usually  when  they  scented  me 
before  seeing  me  they  were  alarmed  and  thought 
that  " safety  first"  required  speed. 

A  mother  grouse  and  her  family  of  youngsters 
came  along  while  I  was  sitting  on  a  log.  I  kept 
perfectly  still.  One  of  the  youngsters  jumped 
up  on  the  log  and  started  toward  me.  Two  or 
three  walked  close  to  me,  and  some  of  the  others 
passed  between  my  legs  and  the  log.  Evidently 
they  took  me  for  a  bump  or  a  stump.     The  mother 


36  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

bird  was  behind,  walking  vigilantly  and  with 
stately  dignity.  The  youngster  on  the  log  came 
up  to  me  and  pecked  at  a  button  on  my  coat.  I 
turned  to  look.  This  told  the  mother  that  I  was 
alive.  It  suggested  danger.  She  instantly  flung 
herself  at  me  and  struck  me  a  slap  on  the  side  of  the 
head.  Dropping  back  she  again  lunged  and  beat 
me  with  her  wings.  Her  brave  behaviour  was  very 
like  that  of  a  hen  in  the  defence  of  her  chicks. 

Once,  just  before  sundown,  a  solitaire  lighted 
on  a  tall  spruce  top  and  poured  forth  his  elemental 
and  eloquent  song.  It  was  divinely  beautiful  in 
the  evening  hush  of  the  wilderness.  He  sang 
with  all  his  melody  and  all  his  might.  Often  in  his 
enthusiasm  he  hurled  himself  upward  or  outward 
from  the  tree-top,  then  settled  or  returned  on  easy, 
outstretched  wings,  singing  all  the  time.  No  song 
that  I  have  ever  heard  so  harmonizes  with  the  si- 
lences and  the  feeling  of  a  mountain  wilderness  or 
so  completely  puts  one  in  tune  with  the  universe 
as  the  marvellous  melody  of  the  solitaire. 

Momentarily  one  day  I  took  my  eyes  from  the 
woodpeckers.  A  rabbit  came  hopping  along,  com- 
pletely unmindful  of  my  presence,  passed  me,  and 
presently  disappeared  among  the  trees.  A  minute 
later  a  soft-footed  coyote  came  following  on  the 
rabbit's  trail.  Though  so  near  he  evidently  did  not 
see  me,  but  hurried  along  and  disappeared  behind 
an  old  pine.     I  do  not  know  what  happened. 

On  another  occasion  a  flutter  of  wings  and  a 


WAITING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  37 

chirp  caused  me  to  turn.  Near  me  a  little  chick- 
adee was  working  away  at  a  hole  in  a  dead  snag 
and  was  just  in  the  act  of  spitting  out  a  mouthful 
of  dead  wood.     Here  was  another  nest  builder. 

Once  a  black  bear  came  along  and  stopped  under 
the  pines  on  a  knoll  not  far  from  me.  Here  he 
rolled  over  an  old  ant-filled  log.  Out  rushed 
ferociously  about  a  million  ants,  which  the  bear 
licked  up  rapidly,  with  a  pleased  expression.  Pres- 
ently he  came  a  little  closer  to  me  and  dug  out  a 
mouse.  Then  he  flushed  a  number  of  grasshop- 
pers; but  in  leaping  into  the  air  and  striking  at  one 
of  these  on  the  wing  he  scented  me  and  at  once  beat 
a  retreat. 

One  day  I  left  my  old  watching  place  and  climbed 
the  heights.  As  usual  I  moved  quietly  and  slowly, 
and  once  on  the  skyline  I  paused  to  look  around. 
Lying  near  a  spring  in  the  centre  of  the  terrace  was 
a  deer.  As  I  watched  her,  nibbling  at  the  plants 
around  her,  from  the  position  of  one  of  her  legs  I 
judged  that  it  was  broken,  probably  by  a  bullet. 
Suddenly  the  wind  warned  her  that  a  deadly  enemy 
was  near.  Instantly  she  leaped  up,  forgetful  of 
her  broken  bones.  She  stood  and  smelled,  but 
without  discovering  me.  Watching  my  chance  I 
slipped  away.  I  had  not  gone  far  before  darkness 
advised  stopping  and  I  spent  the  night  by  a  fire 
without  bedding. 

Next  morning,  advancing  in  the  breeze,  I  climbed 
up  to  watch  the  doe.     She  lay  still  nearly  all  day. 


38  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

Most  of  the  time  her  ears  moved  nervously  about 
as  she  caught  sounds  from  this  way  and  that. 
When  an  eagle  soared  overhead  she  showed  much 
uneasiness  but  moved  only  eyes  and  ears.  In 
mid-afternoon  she  was  startled  by  the  fall  of  a  rock 
mass  down  one  of  the  crags  near  by.  A  short  time 
after  this  some  mountain  sheep  appeared  on  the 
skyline  above,  posed,  and  looked  quietly  around. 
From  the  actions  of  the  sheep  the  doe  evidently 
concluded  that  all  was  well.  She  struggled  slowly 
to  her  feet,  giving  a  low  call  as  she  rose.  Soon  I 
knew  that  a  fawn  was  having  a  warm  meal.  I  do 
not  know  where  the  fawn  had  been  hidden.  Real- 
izing that  the  deer  should  not  be  disturbed  for  some 
days  I  moved  on  to  enjoy  other  scenes  and  left  her 
in  possession. 

Among  the  actors  who  appeared  where  I  next 
watched  were  a  bear  and  her  two  boyish  cubs.  A 
peppery,  curious  Fremont  squirrel  in  a  tree  near 
by  saw  them  approach.  He  ceased  work,  eyed 
them  for  a  time  with  lively  curiosity  then  with  ap- 
parent contempt.  At  last  he  went  on  with  his 
work  without  voicing  a  protest  until  later,  when  the 
cubs  engaged  in  a  playful  scuffle. 

Mother  bear  lumbered  along  under  the  trees, 
unaware  or  indifferent  that  the  squirrel,  appar- 
ently in  his  own  estimation  one  of  the  most  fero- 
cious animals  in  the  wilds,  might  leap  down  upon  her. 
At  one  place  she  stopped,  thrust  a  forepaw  beneath 
the  upturned  roots  of  a  fallen  tree,  and,  with  a  lift 


WAITING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  39 

and  a  push,  thrust  the  heavy,  bulky  mass  aside. 
She  licked  the  earth  a  few  times,  probably  to  pick 
up  some  bugs  or  ants,  and  then  started  on. 

The  cubs  dropped  behind  and  began  digging; 
they  were  having  a  beautiful  time.  The  mother 
paused,  looked,  and  went  back  to  see  what  it  was  all 
about.  They  were  working  with  great  zest,  and 
she  apparently  supposed  that  they  had  scented 
something  worth  while.  In  the  rudest  manner 
she  pushed  each  aside,  smelled  in  the  hole,  found 
nothing,  and  at  once  started  on.  The  cubs  fol- 
lowed. 

They  came  so  close  to  me  that  I  thought  surely 
they  would  either  see  or  scent  me,  but  they  passed 
me  by  unnoticed  and  a  short  distance  away  found 
chokecherry  bushes  on  the  side  of  a  ravine.  The 
mother  bear  at  once  began  feasting  on  the  puckery 
ripe  berries.  Evidently  she  cared  nothing  for  con- 
servation, for  she  crushed  down  and  bit  off  the 
bushes.  She  rose  on  her  hind  feet  and  with  mouth 
and  claws  together  grasped  at  the  laden  ends  of  the 
branches.  Limb  ends,  leaves,  berries — all  were  de- 
voured. 

But  chokecherries  evidently  were  a  dessert  for 
which  her  youngsters  did  not  care.  The  berries 
may  have  been  new  to  them.  At  any  rate,  two 
bites  satisfied  them.  The  bulging,  rounded  little 
stomachs  plainly  indicated  many  helpings  of  other 
eatables.     Even  a  bear  cub  can  be  filled  up. 

For  a  time  they  lay  relaxed  in  the  sun.     Then 


40  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

they  rose,  stood  up,  and  showed  off.  They  struck 
out  like  green,  awkward  boxers.  They  struck  at 
nothing  or  sometimes  with  both  paws  held  low  and 
at  an  angle,  and  sometimes  with  one  paw  held 
high.  Then  they  had  a  wrestling  match — clinch- 
ing, hugging,  and  rolling.  Their  first  belligerent 
attitude  brought  rather  a  vehement  protest  from 
the  squirrel,  who  quickly  subsided,  however,  and 
became  a  silent  spectator.  A  camp-bird  also 
looked  on,  watching  them  from  the  limb  of  a  pine. 
He  observed  closely,  but  did  not  appear  enthusiastic 
over  the  exhibition. 

What  a  number  of  incidents  in  this  little  area! 
Quite  as  many  may  also  happen  in  countless  other 
small  spaces.  Often  I  wondered  about  things  that 
took  place  when  I  was  away;  what  quiet,  interesting, 
unseen  incidents  that  I  never  even  suspected  were 
ever  occurring. 

The  aspen  grove  round  the  woodpeckers'  nest 
was  made  up  of  trees  from  six  to  fifteen  inches  in 
diameter  and  thirty  to  sixty  feet  high.  Most  of 
their  bark  was  milk-white.  Under  the  trees  were 
a  few  bushes  and  many  grassy  spaces  in  which 
violets,  columbines,  harebells,  gentians,  and  other 
flowers  bloomed. 

In  summer  butterflies  with  painted  wings  floated 
and  circled  over  the  sunny  opening.  Rarely  did 
they  fold  their  wings  and  alight.  Occasionally 
one  sailed  through  the  woods,  following  a  fairy 
avenue.     Its  bright,  beautiful  colour  gave  a  charm 


WAITING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  41 

and  an  illumination  to  the  forest  gloom.  Bees 
visited  the  flowers,  and  occasionally  a  bumblebee 
buzzed  hurriedly  through,  as  if  in  desperate  haste 
to  reach  a  certain  place  and  knowing  well  his  des- 
tination. Grasshoppers,  too,  in  the  autumn  days 
enlivened  the  scene.  Occasionally  a  huge  fellow 
leaped  out  of  the  grass  with  a  crackling  and  the 
flash  of  colour  like  a  fairy  rocket  before  he  settled 
back. 

Often  I  was  in  the  grove  when  the  snowflakes 
fell;  and  I  saw  the  coloured  leaves  fall  one  by  one. 
Grandly  the  moon  shone  in  these  scenes.  Early 
morning  and  evening  lights  under  the  trees  and 
through  the  woods  were  strange  and  beautiful. 
They  put  the  trees  at  their  best  and  in  attitudes 
different  from  those  shown  in  the  down-pouring 
light  of  midday. 

The  aspen  grove  where  I  frequently  watched  the 
manners  and  customs  of  our  wild  kindred  was  a 
much  better  place  in  which  to  study  natural  history 
than  that  afforded  by  any  zoo.  I  wish  that  a  com- 
pany of  boys  and  girls  might  have  been  with  me. 
How  they  would  have  enjoyed  these  real  nature 
stories!  I  am  sure  they  would  have  been  happy. 
But,  thanks  to  the  Audubon  Society,  to  other 
organizations,  and  to  numerous  individuals,  boys 
and  girls  are  beginning  to  watch,  enjoy,  and  receive 
the  benefits  of  knowing  the  wild  people  of  the  woods 
who  dress  in  fur  and  feathers. 

Yes,  Mother  Nature  conducts  a  delightful  out- 


42  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

door  school  and  it  is  open  every  day  in  the  year. 
Wherever  there  is  a  bit  of  wildness  there  are  pretty 
certain  to  be  numerous  interesting  little  wild  peo- 
ple. Of  course  bird  reservations  are  even  better 
places  for  this  kind  of  schooling  and  fun.  But  the 
greatest  of  all  places  for  these  advantages  are  our 
national  parks. 

Surely  one  of  the  best  pastimes  for  children — for 
any  one — is  to  wait  at  a  wild-life  centre  and  watch 
the  ways  of  its  residents  and  its  visitors.  To  do 
this  is  pleasant  self-discipline.  It  is  constructive. 
It  keeps  the  eyes  open  and  the  senses  alert.  It 
gives  material  for  thought  and  compels  thinking. 
It  arouses  the  imagination  and  wakes  up  the  crea- 
tive faculties.  The  faculty  of  keen  observation, 
the  ability  to  see  accurately,  and  the  incentive  to 
watch  for  things  that  may  happen  around  us,  add 
much  to  every  outdoor  day.  Such  happy  expe- 
riences as  these  truly  enrich  life. 


IT  HAS  been  said  of  Louis  Agassiz:  "In  his 
later  American  travels  he  would  talk  of  glacial  pheno- 
mena to  the  driver  of  a  country  stagecoach  among  the 
mountains,  or  to  some  workman,  splitting  rock  at  the 
road-side,  with  as  much  earnestness  as  if  he  had  been 
discussing  problems  with  a  brother  geologist;  he  would 
take  the  common  fisherman  into  his  scientific  confi- 
dence, telling  him  the  intimate  secrets  of  fish-structure 
or  fish-embryology,  till  the  man  in  his  turn  became 
enthusiastic,  and  began  to  pour  out  information  from 
the  stores  of  his  own  rough  and  untaught  habits  of 
observation.  Agassiz  s  general  faith  in  the  suscepti- 
bility of  the  popular  intelligence,  however  untrained, 
to  the  highest  truths  of  nature,  was  contagious,  and  he 
created  or  developed  that  in  ivhich.he  believed." 


CHAPTER  III 

WINTER   MOUNTAINEERING 

AFTER  a  heavy  snowfall,  one  December 
A\  morning,  I  started  on  skis  for  two  weeks' 
camping  in  the  Colorado  Rockies.  The 
fluffy  snow  lay  smooth  and  unbroken  over  the 
broken  mountains.  Here  and  there  black  pine  and 
spruce  trees  uplifted  arrowheads  and  snow-cones 
of  the  white  mantle.  On  the  steep  slope,  half  a 
mile  from  my  cabin,  I  was  knocked  to  one  side  by 
a  barrel  mass  of  snow  dropping  upon  me  from  a 
tree,  and  one  ski  escaped.  As  if  glad  to  be  off  on 
an  adventure  of  its  own,  it  sped  down  the  moun- 
tainside like  a  shot.  It  bumped  into  a  low  stump, 
skied  high  into  the  air  and  over  a  tree-top,  and  then 
fell  undamaged  in  the  deep  snow. 

Recovering  my  runaway  ski,  I  started  for  the 
summit  of  the  range,  a  distance  of  about  nine  miles 
from  my  cabin.  For  an  hour  I  followed  a  stream 
whose  swift  waters  now  and  then  splashed  up 
through  the  broken,  icy  skylights.  Then  leaving 
the  canon  and  skirting  the  slope,  I  was  on  the 
plateau  summit  of  the  Continental  Divide,  twelve 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea. 

This   summit   moor  was   deeply  overlaid  with 

45 


46  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

undrifted  snow.  Southward  it  extended  mile  after 
mile,  rising  higher  and  higher  into  the  sky  in  broken, 
snow-covered  peaks.  To  the  north  the  few  small 
broken  cliffs  and  low  buttes  emphasized  the  track- 
less solitude.  This  plateau  or  moorland  was  less 
than  one  mile  wide  and  comparatively  smooth. 
Its  edges  descended  precipitously  two  thousand 
feet  into  cirques  and  canons. 

Southward  I  travelled  along  the  nearly  level 
expanse  of  undrifted  snow.  Looking  back  along 
the  line  of  my  ski  tracks,  I  saw  a  mountain  lion 
leisurely  cross  from  east  to  west.  Apparently 
she  had  come  up  out  of  the  woods  for  mad  play  and 
slaughter  among  the  unfortunate  snowbound  folk 
of  the  summit.  She  stopped  at  my  tracks  for  an 
interested  look,  turned  her  head,  and  glanced 
back  along  the  way  I  had  come.  Then  her  eyes 
appeared  to  follow  my  tracks  to  the  boulder  pile 
from  behind  which  I  was  then  looking. 

Playfully  bouncing  off  the  snow,  she  struck  into 
my  ski  prints  with  one  forepaw,  lightly  as  a  kitten. 
Then  she  dived  into  them,  pretended  to  pick  up 
something  between  her  forepaws,  reared,  and  with 
a  swing  tossed  it  into  the  air.  Then  her  playful 
mood  changed  and  she  started  on  across  the  Divide. 
After  several  steps  she  stopped,  looking  back  as  if 
she  had  forgotten  something  but  was  a  little  too 
lazy  to  retrace  her  steps.  But  finally  she  came 
back.  She  walked  along  my  ski  tracks  for  a  few 
steps,  then  began  to  romp,  now  and  then  making 


WINTER  MOUNTAINEERING  47 

a  great  leap  forward,  and  rolled  and  struck  about 
with  the  pretence  of  worrying  something  she  had 
captured.  She  repeated  this  pantomime  a  few 
times,  and  then,  as  if  suddenly  remembering  her 
original  plan  of  action,  again  walked  westward. 
Arriving  at  the  summit  she  hesitated,  and  when  I 
saw  her  last  she  was  calmly  surveying  the  scenes 
far  below. 

On  the  mountain  skyline  I  crossed  a  white 
tundra,  half  expecting  to  see  an  Eskimo  peer  from 
a  snow  mound.  Arctic  plants  buried  in  the  snow 
and  ptarmigan — " Eskimo  chickens" — in  their 
snow-white  dress  were  the  only  signs  of  life.  Later 
in  the  day  I  saw  a  white  weasel  slipping  over  the 
snow  toward  a  number  of  the  ptarmigan.  Often 
on  the  summits  the  ptarmigan,  in  leggings  and 
coats  of  pure  white,  watched  me  and  allowed  me 
to  come  and  remain  near.  They,  like  the  snowshoe 
rabbit,  skimmed  over  the  surface  on  home-grown 
showshoes.  Possibly  from  them  the  Eskimos  got 
the  idea  for  the  webbed  snowshoe,  which  they  have 
used  for  ages.  More  than  once,  when  weathering 
gales  where  the  thick,  insistent  snow  dust  made  me 
acquainted  with  the  unpleasant  sensations  of 
strangulation,  I  have  envied  the  rosy  finch  and 
other  birds  of  the  snow  who  have  a  well-developed 
screen  to  keep  choking  snow  dust  out  of  the  nos- 
trils. The  Eskimos  also  have  a  slotted  wooden 
shield  to  protect  the  eye  from  the  burning  glare  of 
reflected  sunlight. 


48    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

I  descended  a  few  hundred  feet  into  the  upper 
edge  of  the  woods  to  find  shelter  for  the  night. 
Clearing  out  the  snow  between  a  cliff  and  a  rock 
about  six  feet  from  it,  I  had  an  excellent  lodging 
place.  I  built  a  roaring  fire  and  heated  a  number 
of  stones.  When  this  space  was  warmed  I  pushed 
the  fire  and  the  heated  stones  along  the  open  space 
between  the  rock  and  the  cliff.  Then  I  started  a 
fire  against  the  base  of  the  detached  rock.  Two 
huge  sticks  were  placed  at  the  bottom  of  this  fire 
pile.  Over  these  smaller  ones  were  laid,  and  at 
the  top  still  smaller  ones.  I  set  fire  to  this  on  the 
top  so  that  it  would  burn  slowly  and  not  be  at  its 
hottest  for  an  hour  or  two.  Within  the  circle  of 
warmth  I  placed  my  elkskin  sleeping  bag,  crawled 
into  it,  and  slept  for  nearly  four  hours.  When  the 
cold  awakened  me  I  renewed  both  fires,  then  had 
another  short  sleep.  When  I  again  awoke  I  was 
ready  for  another  day's  adventure. 

I  set  off  through  a  forested  slope  that  tilted 
gently  toward  the  sun.  Black  shadows,  long  and 
straight,  lay  upon  the  forest  floor.  The  crowded 
pines  were  slender  and  limbless  except  at  the  top. 
Across  an  opening  these  slender  shadows  were  at 
their  best,  with  the  snow  glistening  in  white  lines 
between  their  deep  black  ones.  After  two  hours 
I  came  out  upon  a  white  and  treeless  meadow,  across 
which  shadows  were  flying — moving  cloud  shadows 
rushed  across,  and  the  shadow  of  a  soaring  eagle 
appeared  swiftly  skating  in  circles  over  the  snow. 


WINTER  MOUNTAINEERING  49 

I  spent  hours  reading  the  news,  observing  the 
illustrations,  and  studying  the  hieroglyphics  on  the 
snow.  Whether  footprints  in  the  mud  or  snow 
may  have  suggested  printing  cannot  be  told,  but 
it  is  certain  that  the  tracks,  stains,  and  impressions 
in  snow  print  the  news  and  record  the  local  animal 
doings.  Here  the  rabbits  played;  there  the  grouse 
searched  for  dinner;  while  over  yonder  the  long, 
lacy  trail  of  a  mouse  ends  significantly  between  the 
impressions  of  two  wing  feathers.  One  sees  a  trail 
made  by  a  long-legged  animal  and  another  by  a 
fellow  with  a  long  body  and  short  legs — perhaps  a 
weasel.  At  one  place  near  the  foot  of  an  old  tree 
a  squirrel  had  abandoned  a  cone  and  run  home. 
Near  by  was  the  trail  of  a  porcupine  who  was  well- 
fed,  well-protected,  and  though  dull-witted,  not 
at  all  afraid.  Apparently  he  hadn't  any  idea  where 
he  was  going  and  did  not  care  whom  he  should 
meet;  for  at  one  place  he  came  face  to  face  with  a 
fox  and  the  fox  turned  aside. 

Footprints  often  reveal  the  excitement,  hesita- 
tion, change  of  plan,  and  the  preparation  of  two 
wild  folks  advancing  and  about  to  meet.  Most 
animals,  except  the  grizzly,  though  concerned  with 
sight  and  scent,  appear  not  to  consider  the  impres- 
sions in  the  tell-tale  snow. 

I  passed  again  through  woods  where  the  previous 
winter  I  had  walked  upon  ten  feet  of  snow.  In  that 
trip  I  had  looked  down  upon  a  camp-bird  cuddled  in 
an  old  nest.     I  talked  to  her  for  a  minute,  and,  as  is 


5o    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

common  with  her  kind,  she  came  close,  seeking  some- 
thing to  eat.  Three  eggs  were  in  the  nest,  though 
it  was  February.  Never  before  had  I  found  a  bird 
nesting  in  the  famine  month  of  the  year.  These 
eggs  may  not  have  hatched,  but  another  time  I 
saw  a  nest  of  this  species  in  March  with  eggs  that 
did  hatch.  April  is  the  nesting  time  for  this  bird. 
Why  a  pair  sometimes  nest  unusually  early  is  their 
secret. 

I  found  the  crested  jay,  that  flings  forth  its  jarring 
note  as  harsh  and  cold  as  frosty  steel,  using  these 
mountains  for  winter  quarters.  A  few  of  this 
species  remain  for  the  summer,  but  the  majority 
nest  farther  north.  The  water  ouzel  is  a  winter 
songster,  and  twice  during  this  outing,  in  a  snow- 
filled  canon,  he  sang  to  me  cheerily.  He  may  be 
seen  and  heard  in  any  month  of  the  year.  This 
bird  of  quiet,  cheering  presence  is  an  outdoor 
enthusiast.  He  was  always  delightfully  busy,  and 
indifferent  to  my  close  approach  if  I  came  quietly 
and  slowly. 

The  scarlet  berries  and  small,  shining  green 
leaves  of  the  kinnikinick  gave  colour  and  charm  to 
many  snowy  places.  Half  buried  in  the  snow,  in 
the  sun  or  shadow,  in  niches  of  crags,  or  as  wreath- 
like coverings  for  the  rocks,  they  were  bright  and 
cheerful  everywhere. 

I  can  imagine  that  the  winter  birds  and  animals 
worship  the  chinook  wind.  One  evening  I  went 
to  sleep  shivering.     I  was  awakened  through  being 


WINTER  MOUNTAINEERING  51 

too  warm,  and  leaped  out  of  my  sleeping  bag  think- 
ing it  must  be  on  fire.  Then  I  discovered  that  in 
the  night  a  chinook  had  come.  This  warm,  dry 
wind  occasionally  follows  a  blizzard,  and  often  it 
appears  to  make  a  sudden  and  triumphant  attack 
upon  a  cold  period.  During  the  short  day  or  two 
that  it  dominates  it  is  a  blessing.  It  often  raises 
the  temperature  thirty  or  more  degrees  in  a  few 
hours. 

On  another  cold,  windy  night  I  had  a  poor  camp 
and  damp  clothes.  I  had  examined  the  ice  around 
a  beaver  house  to  see  if  it  was  built  by  a  spring. 
It  was,  and  I  had  broken  through  the  thin  ice.  That 
night  as  I  shivered  by  a  slow  fire  I  wished  that  I 
might  have  occupied  a  woodpecker's  house.  I 
took  comfort  in  the  fact  that  at  no  time  during  the 
trip  would  I  be  annoyed  by  flies  and  mosquitoes. 

From  the  sheltering  edge  of  the  woods  I  watched 
the  high  wind  stir  and  sweep  the  excited  snow. 
The  snowflakes  had  long  since  been  reduced  to 
powder  and  dust  by  colliding  with  cliffs  and  by 
being  thrown  violently  against  the  earth.  The 
wind  was  intermittent.  A  wave  of  snow  dust 
swept  along  the  snow-crusted  earth,  filling  the  air; 
then  a  few  seconds  of  sunshine  played  before 
the  next  wave  followed.  Occasionally  everything 
cleared  and  stopped  for  an  exhibit  of  the  whirlwind. 
A  towering  white  column  of  snow  dust  would  spin 
across  the  scene.  This  commonly  was  followed 
by  another  and  heavier  spiral  that  was  more  like  a 


52  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

confusion  of  white  whirled  clouds.  All  this  time 
the  sun  was  shining  in  a  blue  sky;  and  all  this  time, 
too,  a  sparkling  pennant  of  diamond  snow  dust 
and  powder  a  mile  long  was  fluttering  from  the  tip 
of  a  triangular  peak. 

With  such  scenes  in  mind — the  trees  abloom 
with  flakes,  the  white  and  sparkling  whirlwinds, 
the  vast  and  scintillating  snow-powder  pennants — 
I  could  understand  the  poetic  fancy  of  primitive 
people  who  happily  named  winter's  gifts  "snow- 
flowers"  and  who  honoured  the  snow  period  with 
an  outdoor  celebration. 

After  all,  winter  is  but  a  transient  return  of  the 
ice  age.  With  fresh  falls  on  the  heights  above 
timberline,  before  the  wind  blows,  the  vast  world 
appears  overlaid  with  a  permanent  stratum  of 
snow.  Across  white  distances  one  looks  for  miles 
without  seeing  a  tree  or  any  living  object  or  even 
a  shadow  unless  it  be  that  of  a  passing  cloud. 

Though  the  high  mountains  have  their  snow- 
storms and  their  eternal  snowfields,  in  most  moun- 
tain ranges  the  snowfall  on  the  middle  slopes  of  the 
mountains  is  heavier  than  upon  the  high  plateaus 
and  summits.  On  the  heights  the  wind  has  free 
play  and  sweeps  most  of  the  snow  into  enormous 
piles  or  drifts.  These  are  one  hundred  or  more  feet 
deep  and  sometimes  cover  nearly  a  square  mile. 
Owing  to  their  depth,  the  low  temperature  of  the 
heights,  and  the  fact  that  they  are  so  densely 
packed,  these  snow  masses  endure  throughout  the 


WINTER  MOUNTAINEERING  53 

year.  Wind  is  thus  the  chief  factor  in  the  making 
of  snow  topography.  Small  hills  and  plains,  can- 
ons, plateaus,  and  mountain  ranges — all  of  snow — 
are  a  constant  source  of  interest. 

One  morning  I  awoke  with  dense,  white  storm 
clouds  all  around  me  and  the  snow  coming  down. 
Wishing  to  camp  that  night  at  timberline,  I 
travelled  up  the  mountainside  in  the  thickly  falling 
snow  and  dense  clouds.  These  clouds  were  drift- 
ing easily  along  the  mountainside  and,  together 
with  the  feathery  flakes  which  they  were  shedding, 
made  it  impossible  to  see  distinctly  even  to  the 
end  of  an  extended  arm.  Suddenly  I  became 
aware  of  a  diminished  depth  of  snow  underfoot. 
I  stooped  to  measure  it.  It  was  less  than  three 
inches.  On  rising  I  thrust  my  head  through  the 
silver  lining — the  upper  surface — of  the  cloud  into 
the  sunshine. 

The  altitude  was  about  eleven  thousand  feet. 
Above  and  about  me  the  peaks  and  plateaus  stood 
in  gray  and  brown.  Not  a  flake  of  all  this  snow 
had  fallen  upon  them.  There  was  nothing  to 
indicate  that  a  storm  had  prevailed  just  below 
during  the  last  two  days  and  nights,  or  that  only 
a  step  down  the  mountain  snow  was  still  falling. 

Soundless  and  motionless  the  cloud  sea  lay  be- 
low. Here  and  there  an  upthrusting  pinnacle 
cast  a  shadow  upon  it.  Unable  to  make  myself 
believe  that  below  me  the  flakes  were  falling  thick 
and  fast  and  that  the  ground  was  deeply  covered 


54  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

with  soft  white  snow,  I  plunged  down  into  the 
cloud.  After  enjoying  the  novelty  for  a  few  min- 
utes I  climbed  out  of  the  snowstorm  again  and 
then  once  more  descended  into  it.  As  the  mountain- 
side was  comparatively  unbroken  I  walked  along 
the  upper  edge  of  the  cloud  for  some  distance.  Two 
or  three  times  this  fluffy  mass  swelled  and  rose 
slightly  above  me  and  then  settled  easily  back.  In 
the  head  of  a  gulch  cloud  swells  rose  slightly  higher 
than  out  in  the  main  sea.  I  climbed  down  into 
them  a  short  distance,  thinking  to  cross  the  hidden 
canon,  but,  finding  it  too  steep-walled,  climbed  out 
again. 

As  I  emerged  from  the  gulch  I  saw,  near  by,  a 
huge  grizzly  bear  sunning  himself  on  a  cliff  that 
rose  a  few  feet  out  of  the  cloud  into  the  sunshine. 
He,  like  myself,  appeared  greatly  interested  in  the 
slow  rise  and  fall  and  ragged  outline  of  the  storm 
cloud.  He  was  all  attention  to  every  new  move- 
ment near  him.  On  scenting  me  he  stared  for  a 
moment,  as  if  thinking:  "Where  on  earth  did  he 
come  from  ?"  Then  he  stepped  overboard  into  the 
clouds. 

I  camped  that  night  beside  a  clump  of  storm- 
battered  trees  that  marked  the  upper  limit  of  the 
forest.  In  the  morning  all  was  clear.  The  cloud 
sea  of  the  day  before  had  rolled  silently  away. 
Along  the  mountainside  the  ragged  edge  of  snow 
stretched  for  miles.  Above  it  barren,  rocky  peaks 
rose  in  a  great  mountain  desert.     Below,  all  was 


WINTER  MOUNTAINEERING 

soft  and  white — a  wonderful  world  of  mountains 
made  of  snowflakes. 

Near  my  camp  was  an  ancient-looking  tree 
clump.  None  of  the  trees  was  taller  than  my 
head,  and  though  of  almost  normal  form  they  were 
somewhat  gnarled  and  appeared  as  old  as  the  hills. 
Centuries  they  surely  had  seen.  Trees  on  the 
forest  outpost  in  high  mountains  endure  severe 
trials.  They  are  dwarfed,  battered,  and  broken; 
huddled  behind  boulders,  buried,  or  half  buried  in 
snow.  The  forest  frontier  is  maintained  by  these 
brave  tree  people.  Seen  again  and  again,  this  re- 
gion displays  features  of  new  interest  as  often  as 
the  visitor  returns  to  it. 

On  the  heights  I  frequently  saw  conies.  One 
day  I  lingered  to  watch  one  that  was  less  shy  than 
the  majority.  He  sat  with  his  back  against  the 
sunny  side  of  a  boulder,  looking  serious  and  keep- 
ing a  careful  survey  of  his  field  of  vision.  Presently 
I  discovered  his  haystack — his  supply  of  winter 
food — a  tiny  heap  of  grass,  sedge,  and  alpine 
plants.  It  was  about  two  feet  high  and  was 
sheltered  beneath  two  half-arching  stones. 

Many  were  the  ways  in  which  I  found  animals 
spending  the  winter.  In  the  course  of  this  out- 
ing I  saw  several  flocks  of  mountain  sheep.  All 
these  were  in  the  heights  above  the  tree  line.  On  the 
day  following  the  snow-drifting  one  I  crossed  the 
heights  and  on  the  summit  passed  close  to  a  flock. 
They  were  feeding  in  a  space  that  the  wind   had 


$6    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

swept  bare  of  snow.  Happy  Highlanders  they 
were,  well  fed  and  contented,  in  their  home  twelve 
thousand  feet  above  the  tides. 

One  sunny,  though  cold,  morning  I  came  upon  a 
large  dead  tree.  In  it  were  a  number  of  woodpecker 
holes.  Wondering  if  these  houses  had  winter  dwellers 
I  struck  the  tree  with  my  hatchet.  Instantly  a 
dozen  or  more  chickadees  came  pouring  out  of  one 
of  the  holes  like  so  many  merry  children.  From 
a  hole  in  the  opposite  side  of  the  tree  flew  one  or 
more  birds  that  I  did  not  see.  Out  of  one  of  the 
upper  holes  a  downy  woodpecker  thrust  his  head. 
Glaring  down  at  me  with  one  eye — impatient, 
as  late  sleepers  usually  are  when  called — he  ap- 
peared to  be  wanting  to  say:  "  Why  am  I  disturbed  ? 
This  is  a  cold  morning.  There  are  no  early  worms 
to  be  had  in  winter/'  From  another  hole  flew 
another  downy.  I  felt  sure  that  none  of  these 
late  sleepers  had  breakfasted.  Seldom  is  an  old 
woodpecker  house  without  a  tenant.  Bluebirds, 
wrens,  and  numbers  of  weak-billed  folk  nest  in 
them  during  summer,  while  birds  of  other  species 
find  them  life-savers  in  the  winter.  A  humming- 
bird's nest  that  I  found  brought  to  mind  the  fact 
that  its  builder,  if  alive,  was  then  among  the  tropi- 
cal flowers  of  Central  America. 

Later  in  the  day  I  saw  a  flock  of  chickadees,  one 
or  two  brown  creepers,  and  a  solitary  woodpecker 
food  hunting  together.  The  chickadees  kept  up  a 
cheering  conversation  and  twice  I  thought  I  heard 


WINTER  MOUNTAINEERING  57 

the  woodpecker  give  a  call.  I  wondered  if  these 
fellow  food  hunters  also  all  lodged  in  one  many- 
roomed  apartment  house. 

Coming  one  day  to  a  beaver  pond  I  scraped  off 
the  snow  and  looked  through  the  clear  ice  into  the 
water.  Two  or  three  beavers  were  swimming. 
The  water  between  the  ice  and  the  bottom  of  the 
pond  was  about  two  feet  deep.  Each  autumn  the 
beavers  pile  ample  winter  supplies  in  deep  water 
close  to  the  house.  The  pond  may  freeze  over, 
but  this  ice  covering  is  a  protection.  The  house 
entrance  is  on  the  bottom  of  the  pond  beneath  the 
ice,  and  the  floor  is  above  the  level  of  the  pond. 
The  water  in  the  lower  part  of  the  house  does  nor 
freeze.  The  beaver  residents  were  here  having  a 
comfortable  time  while  deer  in  near-by  woods  were 
floundering  in  the  snow.  I  have  known  deer  to 
have  a  hard  time  of  it  in  winter.  Commonly  deer 
winter  in  lower  altitudes,  but  sometimes  they  stay 
in  the  middle  mountain  region  and  worry  through 
the  snowy  weeks  by  yarding — that  is,  a  number 
remaining  in  one  small  area,  where  through  daily 
trampling  they  keep  on  top  of  the  snow  and  still 
find  enough  to  eat. 

A  number  of  animals  hibernate.  Fat  wood- 
chucks  live  in  a  den  five  or  six  feet  below  the  sur- 
face. Storms  may  come  and  go,  but  the  wood- 
chuck  sleeps  till  the  first  flowers  wake.  The 
grizzly  and  black  bear  spend  frorn  three  to  five 
months  in  heavy,  hibernating  sleep. 


58  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

Plants,  too,  though  anchored,  have  a  variety  of 
winter  customs.  Trees  may  be  said  to  hibernate, 
even  the  firs  and  spruces  that  go  to  sleep  in  full 
dress.  Beneath  the  snow  are  countless  seeds  that 
will  live  their  life  next  year,  and  numbers  of  plants 
that  have  hauled  down  their  towers  and  colours 
for  the  winter.  You  may  seek  them  and  walk 
over  them,  and  Mother  Nature  will  only  say: 
"Trouble  me  not,  for  the  door  is  now  shut  and  my 
children  are  with  me  in  bed." 

Moss  in  midwinter  is  as  fresh  and  charming  as 
though  knee-deep  in  June.  It  is  dainty  and  strik- 
ing in  a  white  setting.  Mosses  and  lichens  are 
ever  a  part  of  the  poetry  associated  with  ferns  and 
the  golden  sands  of  bubbling  springs;  they  are 
sharers  in  the  cheerful,  ever-silent  beauty  of  the 
wild.  They  never  intrude,  but  are  among  the  most 
subdued  and  harmonious  decorations  in  all  nature. 
Yet  lichens  carry  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow. 
In  dark  woods,  deep  canons,  and  on  the  pinnacles 
of  high  peaks  they  cling  in  leafy,  maplike  decora- 
tions of  oxidized  silver,  hammered  brass,  pure  cop- 
per, and  stains  of  yellow,  brown,  scarlet,  gray,  and 
green.  They  are  almost  classical  decorations  and 
touch  with  soft  colour  and  beauty  the  roughest 
bark  and  boulders.  Until  one  knows  that  they 
are  living  things  they  seem  only  chemical  colour- 
ings on  the  crags,  and  a  part  of  the  colour  scheme 
in  the  bark  of  trees. 

One  day  during  this  outing  I  had  been  walking 


WINTER  MOUNTAINEERING  59 

in  the  shadow  of  a  mountain,  which,  together  with 
the  darkness  of  the  spruce  woods,  made  the  snow 
almost  a  gray  expanse.  As  I  climbed  out  of  the 
shadow  on  to  a  plateau,  just  at  sunset,  how  splen- 
didly, dazzlingly  white  was  the  skyline  of  peaks! 
On  this  white  and  broken  line  the  sunset-coloured 
clouds  strangely  rested.  A  sunset  is  never  an  old 
story,  and  a  coloured  sunset  above  the  white  west 
line  of  winter's  silent  earth  renews  the  imagination 
of  youth. 

Though  I  crossed  a  number  of  alpine  lakes  they 
were  not  to  be  seen.  They  were  gone  from  the 
landscape.  A  stratum  of  marble  instead  of  snow 
could  not  better  have  concealed  them.  Lakes, 
flowers,  and  bears  were  asleep  for  the  winter. 

In  snowless  places  the  brooks  had  decorated 
their  ways  with  beautiful  ice  structures — arches 
and  arcades,  spires  and  frozen  splashes,  and  end- 
less stretches  and  forms  of  silver  streamside  plat- 
ings and  boulder  drapings;  ice,  crystal  clear, 
frosted  and  opaque.  Many  rocks  were  overspread 
with  ice  sheets  and  icy  drapery,  and  cliffs  were 
decked  with  fretwork  and  stupendous  icicles. 
Smaller  streams  froze  to  the  bottom,  overflowed 
and  outbuilt.  In  places  wide  areas  were  covered 
to  enormous  depths.  Looking  upon  these  one 
might  almost  fancy  the  Ice  Age  returning.  But 
three  months  later  the  ice  was  gone  to  the  far-off 
sea,  and  the  flowers  that  slept  beneath  were  mass- 
ing their  brilliant  blossoms  in  the  sun. 


60  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

An  old  Ute  chief  once  told  me  that  during  the 
hardest  winter  he  had  ever  known  in  his  country 
the  snow  for  weeks  lay  "six  ponies  deep."  The 
average  annual  snowfall  in  the  Rocky  Mountains 
is  less  than  twenty-five  feet.  This  is  less  than  the 
average  for  the  Alps. 

Meetings  with  other  human  beings  were  few. 
One  day,  while  walking  down  a  plateau,  I  saw  a 
dark  figure  that  stood  waiting  on  the  edge  of  a 
snowy  mountain  moor  a  mile  distant.  As  I  ap- 
proached the  man  waved  an  arm  to  attract  my 
attention  and  when  I  came  near  enough  he  said 
by  way  of  greeting: 

"I  thought  you  had  not  seen  me." 

We  were  above  the  limits  of  tree  growth  and 
below  and  about  us  was  a  wild  array  of  peaks  and 
canons. 

"When  I  saw  you  come  racing  down  that  peak 
shoulder,"  said  the  man,  "I  fancied  that  you  were 
an  escaping  Siberian  convict,  sentenced  for  politi- 
cal aims.     What  is  your  sentence  or  your  service  ? " 

"They  call  me  the  Snow  Man,"  I  replied.  "I 
am  making  winter  experiments  and  gathering  in- 
formation along  the  summit  of  the  Continental 
Divide."  I  had  not  as  yet  become  official  "Colo- 
rado Snow  Observer." 

In  answer  to  a  counter  question  of  mine  he 
said: 

"Oh,  I'm  a  prospector,  fifty-four,  born  in  Ire- 
land, raised  in  Australia  and  Siberia.    Am  after  gold 


WINTER  MOUNTAINEERING  61 

in  Spruce  Gulch.  If  I  don't  strike  it  by  spring 
I'm  off  for  Alaska.     Stirring  reports  from  there. " 

It  was  a  good  place  to  look  around.  Several 
towering  peaks  were  strangely  near.  A  number 
of  summits  reached  up  fourteen  thousand  feet  into 
the  blue  sky.  Colorado  is  crowded  with  a  vast 
and  wondrous  array  of  mountains.  Many  of  these 
are  united  by  narrow  plateaus  that  are  savagely 
side-cut  with  deep  canons.  Each  time  I  gained  a 
commanding  height  I  looked  again  and  again, 
awed  by  the  immensity  of  it  all,  at  peaks  and 
canons  with  their  broken  strata  of  snow. 

This  outing,  as  usual,  was  all  too  short.  Ten 
of  its  fourteen  days  were  sunny  and  calm.  Through 
two  days  the  wind  roared.  Two  other  days  were 
filled  with  snowstorms.  Each  day  I  went  to  some 
new  scene.  I  climbed  one  fourteen-thousand-foot 
peak.  I  occupied  one  camp  three  nights,  but  on 
each  of  the  other  nights  I  had  a  new  camp.  Most 
of  the  nights  were  filled  with  stars,  and  always 
there  was  the  blazing  camp-fire.  On  my  way  home 
I  met  a  man  who  had  heard  of  my  winter  camping 
habits.  After  questioning  me  concerning  the  ob- 
jects of  interest  seen,  he  asked: 

"Is  this  a  good  time  of  year  for  a  vacation ?" 

I  replied: 

"A  good  time  for  a  vacation  is  whenever  you 
can  spare  the  time,  and  the  very  best  time  for  a 
vacation  in  the  mountains  is  when  you  can  stay 
the  longest." 


POOR  naked  wretches,  whereso'er  you  are, 
That  bide  the  pelting  of  this  pitiless  storm, 
How  shall  your  houseless  heads  and  unfed  sides, 
Your  looped  and  window' d  raggedness,  defend  you 
From  seasons  such  as  these?  — Shakespeare. 


CHAPTER  IV 

TREES    AT  TIMBERLINE 

A  LL  day  I  followed  the  dwarfed,  battered, 
/-\  uppermost  edge  of  the  forest  through  the 
**-  "^  heights  of  the  Rockies.  My  barometer 
steadily  said  that  we  were  two  miles  higher  than 
the  sea.  From  a  stand  of  dead  timber  I  cut  eleven 
small  trees  and  carried  them  in  one  load  to  my 
camp-fire.  They  were  so  gnarled  and  ancient- 
looking  that  they  aroused  my  curiosity,  and  with  a 
magnifier  I  counted  the  annual  rings  in  each.  The 
youngest  was  146  years  of  age,  and  the  oldest  258! 
The  total  age  of  these  eleven  trees  was  2,191 
years!  These  and  other  trees  had  blazed  in  my 
fire  and  fallen  to  ashes  long  before  I  fell  to  sleep 
beneath  the  low  and  crowded  stars. 

With  rare  exceptions  the  trees  at  timberline  are 
undersized  and  of  imperfect  form.  A  forest  only 
eight  feet  high  is  not  uncommon.  One  winter  a 
tough  staff  that  I  used  was  almost  an  entire  tree 
which  had  been  nearly  400  years  in  growing.  A 
tree  that  I  carried  home  in  my  pocket  the  micro- 
scope showed  to  be  more  than  three  score  and  ten 
years  old!  Annual  rings  in  many  of  these  timber- 
line  trees  are  scarcely  1-100  of  an  inch  in  diameter, 

65 


66    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

while  a  fate-favoured  cottonwood  or  eucalyptus 
may  in  one  season  envelop  itself  with  a  ring  that 
is  more  than  an  inch  in  diameter. 

The  age  of  a  timberline  tree  cannot  be  approxi- 
mated by  its  size  or  appearance  or  by  the  size  or 
the  age  of  its  neighbours.  It  may  have  lived  twice 
as  long,  and  it  may  have  endured  more  hardships 
than  its  near-by  fellows  of  similar  size  and  appear- 
ance. 

Environment  has  shaped  many  timberline  trees 
into  huge  and  crooked  vines.  Still  others  are 
picturesque,  bell-shaped  individuals  formed  by  the 
deeply  drifting  snows  pressing  the  limbs  down- 
ward and  against  the  trunk.  During  the  summer 
months  the  limbs  partly  regain  their  natural  posi- 
tion, and  the  result  is  a  slender  bell  shape  in  tall 
trees  and  a  heavy  bell  outline  in  stocky  ones.  In- 
stead of  symmetrical  limb  development  many  trees 
are  one-sided.  Imagine  a  tree  with  storm-threshed 
limbs  all  flung  out  on  one  side  of  the  trunk,  like  a 
tattered,  wind-blown  banner !  Then  imagine  thou- 
sands of  bannered  trees  scattered  and  grouped,  in 
a  mountainside  forest  front ! 

The  climatic  conditions  at  the  forest  frontier 
are  trying,  but  timberline  trees  are  hardy  and  prob- 
ably have  as  long  or  even  longer  lives  than  the 
majority  of  their  more  fortunately  placed  relatives. 
The  oldest  timberline  settler  that  I  ever  studied 
had  been  permanently  located  at  an  altitude  of 
11,437  feet  for  1,182  years  when  finally  killed  by 


TREES  AT  TIMBERLINE  67 

fire.  Much-branched  and  stocky,  its  height  was 
twelve  feet,  and  its  diameter  a  foot  above  the 
earth  was  four  feet  six  inches.  What  these  tim- 
berline  trees  lack  in  symmetry  and  heroic  size  they 
make  up  in  hardiness  and  aggressiveness. 

Timberland  in  the  far  northland  marks  the  lati- 
tudinal limits,  while  the  mountain  timberline  shows 
the  altitudinal  limits  of  the  forest-life  zone.  The 
forest  farthest  north  ends  in  a  ragged,  battered 
edge  against  the  Arctic  prairies.  The  polar  storms 
that  sweep  across  broken  icefields  and  barren  lands 
meet  with  first  resistance  in  the  advanced,  low- 
crouching  timberline  of  sturdy  spruces. 

Timberline  far  up  the  sides  of  high  mountains 
is  as  strange  and  as  abrupt  a  boundary  as  the 
crooked  and  irregular  shoreline  of  the  sea.  This 
mountainside  timberline  is  the  forest's  uppermost 
edge.  Above  are  the  treeless  distances  and  barren 
heights  of  the  Arctic-alpine  zone.  Below  and 
away  from  the  ragged  edge  drapes  and  rolls  the 
dark  and  broken  robe  of  forest.  Like  old  ocean's 
shifting  and  disputed  boundary  line,  timberline 
is  a  place  where  contending  forces  ever  surge  and 
roar. 

Nowhere  does  this  forest  frontier — the  ever- 
contending  line  of  battle  between  woods  and 
weather — appear  more  stormy  or  striking  than 
in  the  high  mountains  of  the  West.  For  miles  this 
timberline  extends  away  in  a  front  of  dwarfed  and 
distorted   trees — millions   of  them — ever   fiercely 


68  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

fighting  a  relentless  enemy.  The  veterans  show 
the  intense  severity  of  the  struggle  as  they  stand 
resolutely  in  their  inhospitable  heights. 

Timberline  trees  are  among  the  distinct  attrac- 
tions of  our  national  parks.  Timberline  is  prob- 
ably the  most  telling  in  the  Rocky  Mountain 
National  Park,  but  in  the  Yosemite,  Mount  Rain- 
ier, and  Glacier  National  parks  it  has  striking 
phases.  It  is  an  illustrated  and  graphic  story— ' 
one  of  the  most  powerful  in  the  book  of  Nature. 

In  Colorado  this  mountainside  tree  line  is  two 
vertical  miles  above  the  shore  line  of  the  sea.  Like 
the  ocean's  edge,  timberline  has  miles  that  are 
straight  and  level  as  a  die;  but  in  places  it  sweeps 
outward  around  a  peninsula  and  follows  the  crooked 
line  of  an  invading  canon.  There  are  forested  bays, 
beautiful  coves,  and  wooded  islands.  Stretches  of 
forest  climb  high  ridges,  and  invading  outposts 
make  a  successful  stand  in  favourable  spots  among 
the  snowfields  far  above  the  main  forest  front. 

Violent,  dry  winds  that  blow  ever  from  the  same 
quarter  are  a  powerful,  relentless  foe  of  many  a 
forest  frontier.  They  either  point  all  limbs  to- 
ward the  leeward  or  prevent  all  limbs  except  lee- 
ward ones  from  growing.  Trees  are  pushed  out  of 
plumb  and  entire  forests  are  pushed  partly  over. 
Then  overweighted  with  snow,  they  are  forced 
down  to  earth  and  flattened  out.  The  wind  and 
snow  never  allow  them  to  rise  again,  and  they  be- 
come in  effect  huge  vines  or  low,  long-bodied,  pre- 


TREES  AT  TIMBERLINE  69 

historic   animals   headed   to   the    leeward.     They 
refuse  to  die,  and  may  live  on  for  centuries. 

Snow,  cold,  and  dryness  are  the  chief  factors 
which  determine  where  the  forest  may  or  shall  not 
grow.  In  some  localities  the  snow  line  is  the  har- 
rier that  forms  the  timberline.  Dryness  of  locality 
combined  with  dry  winds  resists  forestation.  But 
the  sand  blasts  of  dry,  windy  localities  play  havoc 
by  beating  and  flaying  the  trees.  This  sand  beats 
off  the  bark  on  the  trees'  stormward  quarter,  ex- 
posing their  very  bones.  Often  it  eats  its  way 
into  the  already  half-flayed  trunks.  The  storm- 
ward  half  of  many  trees  is  dead  and  lifeless,  a 
sand-graven  totem  pole,  while  the  living  half  holds 
long,  tattered  limbs  streaming  leeward. 

This  gale-blown  sand  frequently  prevents  trees 
from  growing  higher  than  the  shelter  behind  which 
they  stand.  In  places  so-called  trees  may  be  seen 
with  trunks  one  to  three  feet  in  diameter  and  only 
one  or  two  feet  high,  cut  off  by  the  sand  fire  of  the 
high  winds.  Numerous  long  limbs  reach  out  from 
the  trunk  in  all  directions.  The  shoots  which 
these  limbs  send  up  are  clipped  off  by  the  wind- 
shot  sand.  In  time  this  tree-top  is  a  table  or  brush 
of  bristles  twenty  feet  across,  and  trimmed  off  as 
level  as  a  lawn.  Hundreds  of  these  trees  are  often 
crowded  together  until  the  identity  of  each  is  lost, 
forming  acres  of  clipped,  low  tree  lawn.  The  wide- 
spreading  mass  is  too  low  to  crawl  under  and  not 
quite  strong  enough  to  allow  one  to  walk  on  the 


7o    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

surface.  It  is  a  good  mattress  to  sleep  on;  often 
I  have  rolled  out  of  one  of  these  tree-top  beds  with- 
out discovering  the  tumble  till  morning! 

Snowslides,  landslides,  and  other  factors  often 
pile  up  embankments  of  debris,  and  these  form 
large  windbreaks  whose  shelter  allows  trees  to  grow 
in  places  formerly  windswept  and  inhospitable. 
Trees  at  timberline  are  eternally  vigilant  and 
promptly  seize  every  new  opportunity  or  opening. 
One  spring  a  landslide  on  the  slope  of  Mt.  Clarence 
King  piled  a  shipload  of  stones  on  a  windswept, 
treeless  flat.  A  few  years  later  several  dozen  spruce 
were  growing  up  in  the  leeward  of  this  chance-made 
shelter. 

But  slides  or  other  forces  occasionally  remove 
shelters  behind  which  a  forest  front  was  formed. 
Or  they  place  an  obstruction  which  changes  the 
course  of  the  prevailing  winds.  Snowslides  oc- 
casionally cut  an  avenue  down  into  a  forest,  which 
exposes  the  trees  on  the  edges  of  the  new  avenue. 
Or  an  old  stretch  of  forest  front  is  sheared  off  by  a 
slide.  With  the  hardened  front  ranks  removed, 
the  less  hardy  trees  thus  exposed  are  slashed  and 
shot  to  pieces  by  the  cutting  edges  of  the  prevailing 
gales. 

One  day  I  came  out  upon  a  long,  hedge-like 
growth  of  trees  extending  down  the  slope.  Here 
the  high,  sand-flinging  winds  blew  from  west  to 
east.  A  lone  boulder  about  six  feet  in  diameter 
at  the  west  end  of  the  hedge  had  sheltered  the  first 


TREES  AT  TIMBERLINE  7, 

tree  that  had  grown  up  to  the  leeward  of  it.     Then 
another  tree  had  risen  in  the  shelter  of  this  one 
and  still  others  in  order  and  in  line  eastward,  until 
the  long  hedge  was  grown.     The  straight  line  of 
the  hedge  from  west  to  east  showed  that  the  high 
winds  were  always  from  the  same  quarter,  and  the 
topography  of  the  place  had  compelled  them   to 
rush  along  the  straight  line  which  they  had  fol- 
lowed.    The  front  of  this  hedge  was  the  diameter 
of  the  boulder,  and  the  farther  end,  about  two 
hundred  feet  away,  was  about  a  foot  higher.     Each 
summer  thousands  of  shoots  and  twigs  grew  out 
on  the  top  and  sides,  but  each  succeeding  winter 
the   winds   trimmed   them  off.     Long   afterward, 
in  pursuit  of  a  woodchuck  one  day,  a  grizzly  dug 
out  a  few  tons  of  earth  and  stones  by  the  side  of 
this  boulder.     Frost  and  water  undermined,  until 
gravity   caused    the    boulder   to    roll    over.     The 
hedgerow  was  quickly  sandblasted  to  pieces,  and 
in  a  few  years  all  that  remained  was  a  number  of 
stubby   trunks,    half  round,    with   the   flattened, 
stormward  side  fantastically  ground  and  engraved 
by  the  wind  and  sand. 

I  have  followed  the  timberline  for  hundreds  of 
miles,  in  the  Sierras,  the  Cascades,  and  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  One  evening  I  camped  on  the  rim 
of  Wild  Basin  in  what  is  now  the  Rocky  Mountain 
National  Park.  Out  of  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Basin,  Long's  Peak  swept  ruggedly  far  up  into  the 
sky.     I  was  on  the  eastern  slope  of  the  Continental 


72  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

Divide.  Great  light  bars,  miles  in  length,  and  long 
shadow  pennants  of  peaks  lay  across  the  basin. 
As  the  sun  descended,  these  lengthened  and  pushed 
down  the  descending  slopes.  Finally  they  reached 
out  upon  the  Great  Plains  nearly  a  hundred  miles 
distant.  Near  by  a  solitaire  sang  with  inspiring 
and  unrivalled  eloquence.  He  sang  from  a  crag 
and  from  a  tree-top,  and  then  with  intense  ecstasy, 
while  darting  and  dropping,  wheeling  and  gliding, 
he  gladdened  the  air  above  his  nesting  mate.  Once 
he  rose  high  above  the  shadows  and  for  a  moment 
poured  forth  his  song  in  the  bright  sunlight  above. 

As  he  ceased,  the  beavers  began  making  merry 
in  a  pond  just  below.  I  watched  them  and  the 
purple  ripples  they  made.  Presently  the  ripples 
faded  from  sight,  but  in  the  darkness  the  easy 
movements  and  dividing  wavelets  of  the  swimmers 
were  revealed  by  the  rocking  of  the  reflected  stars. 

In  the  night  a  white-crowned  sparrow  repeatedly 
sang  briefly.  A  camp-bird  quietly  waited  for  my 
awakening.  Later  a  tiny  chipmunk  bashfully 
called.  An  astonished  squirrel  first  stared  in 
silence,  then  with  jerky  note  scolded  and  bluffed 
from  a  safety-first  distance,  but  at  last  gave  way 
to  curiosity  and  came  closer. 

Big  game  is  common  along  the  boundary  of 
woodland  and  grassland.  Deer  and  elk  frequent 
timberline  during  the  summer,  and  mountain  sheep 
may  be  seen  at  any  time.  In  the  autumn  it  is 
frequented  by  bears.     The  mountain  lion,  coyote, 


TREES  AT  TIMBERLINE  73 

and  fox  come  to  this  edge  of  the  woods  to  watch 
and  wait,  and  here  concealed  gaze  out  upon  the 
upland  open. 

Beautiful  lakes,  gouged  by  glaciers  out  of  solid 
rock,  are  scattered  along  the  farthest  edge  of  the 
forest.  They  are  one  of  the  distinctive  charms 
of  these  Arctic  gardens.  With  a  border  of  wild 
cliff,  a  waterfall,  a  fringe  of  brilliant  flowers,  grassy 
spaces,  picturesque  trees  in  clusters  and  singly, 
these  lakes  are  wildly,  poetically  lovely. 

On  the  whole,  the  heights  are  becoming  dryer. 
Many  summits  are  no  longer  tolerant  to  the  trees. 
Parts  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  are  in  the  arid  belt, 
and  their  winters  are  often  extremely  dry.  Dry, 
high  winds  frequently  sweep  their  summits,  suck- 
ing moisture  from  all  vegetation.  The  unpro- 
tected trees  in  the  forest  front  of  dry  ridges  suffer 
greatly,  thousands  perishing  during  a  single  dry 
winter. 

I  walked  for  hours  along  a  dry  summit  slope 
strewn  with  the  bleaching  bones  of  millions  of 
veteran  pines  and  spruces.  Here  over  a  long  front 
the  battle  had  gone  against  the  forest.  The  near- 
est frontier  was  half  a  mile  down  the  slope. 

Timberline  is  not  fixed.  In  places  it  is  creeping 
forward  and  upward;  in  other  reaches  it  is  being 
driven  back.  Still  other  boundary  lines,  like  those 
of  nations,  are  stationary  for  years,  then  suddenly 
these  are  obliterated  and  redrawn,  as  territory  is 
lost  or  won. 


74    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

Only  a  few  of  the  earth's  numerous  tree  people 
dwell  at  timberline.  Those  most  commonly  found 
both  at  timberline  in  the  heights  and  the  low  levels 
of  the  north  are  pine,  spruce,  fir,  aspen,  birch,  and 
willow.  On  the  eastern  slope  of  Long's  Peak 
timberline  is  approximately  two  miles  above  sea- 
level.  Here,  in  a  moist  place  by  a  tiny  tributary 
of  the  Mississippi,  grow  Engelmann  spruce,  Al- 
pine fir,  black  birch,  aspen,  and  Arctic  willow.  On 
a  near-by  dry  slope  all  the  trees  are  limber  pines. 

On  Mount  Orizaba,  close  to  the  equator,  timber- 
line  is  maintained  above  the  altitude  of  13,000  feet. 
In  the  Rockies  of  Colorado  and  in  the  Sierras  it  is 
at  approximately  1 1,500  feet.  The  highest  tim- 
berline of  normal  trees  in  the  United  States  that  I 
have  found  is  on  a  gulch  of  the  San  Juan  Mountains 
at  an  altitude  of  12,300  feet.  Here  are  upright  trees 
more  than  a  foot  in  diameter  and  60  feet  high.  Tim- 
berline in  Switzerland  is  about  6,500  feet;  on  Mount 
Washington  about  5,000;  on  Mount  Rainier  about 
7,000.  In  most  localities  it  is  higher  on  the  south- 
erly mountain  slopes  than  on  the  northerly.  In 
the  far  north  the  altitudinal  and  latitudinal  tim- 
berlines  converge  and  form  the  defensive  outpost 
of  the  forest  on  the  edge  of  the  polar  world. 

Broken  wild-flower  gardens  crowd  and  colour 
every  ragged  opening  among  the  picturesque  tree 
groups  on  the  forest  frontier.  Many  of  these 
flowers  are  dwarfed  and  tiny  but  in  moist  places 
they  grow  thickly  and  tall.     Among  the  last  trees 


TREES  AT  TIMBERLINE  75 

I   have    seen   wild    sheep   wading   shoulder   deep 
through  wide  meadows  of  coloured  bloom. 

A  typical  timberline  garden  is  a  ragged-edged 
acre  fenced  off  and  sheltered  by  a  weird,  low  wall 
of  trees.  Here  and  there  a  blooming  open  way 
connects  it  with  an  adjoining  garden.  A  young 
tree  clump  and  a  boulder  pile  add  artistic  touches; 
here  and  there  appear  low-growing,  many-tinted 
phlox;  tall,  stately  columbines  with  silver  and  blue 
ribbons  at  the  top;  blue  mertensia,  taller  still;  paint 
brushes  touched  with  a  variety  of  shades;  anem- 
ones; gentians;  white  monkshood;  and,  bending 
upon  its  stem,  a  ray-faced,  golden-brown  gaillardia. 

One  winter  the  snow  drifted  deeply  over  a  stretch 
of  forest  as  large  as  a  huge  circus  tent.  The  fol- 
lowing summer  it  partly  melted.  The  next  winter 
new  snow  was  added,  and  the  following  spring  the 
drift  was  larger  than  before.  It  did  not  melt  away 
until  the  third  summer.  In  the  meantime,  the 
several  hundred  spruce  trees  were  kept  asleep  in  a 
natural  cold  storage  and  had  failed  to  grow.  This 
is  why  their  annual  rings  were  two  less  in  number 
than  those  of  the  neighbouring  trees  of  the  same 
age. 

Trees  have  tongues.  They  record  in  their  an- 
nual rings  the  larger  experiences  of  the  years,  the 
triumphs  of  friendly  seasons,  and  the  batterings 
and  the  burns  that  fall  to  the  lot  of  those  in  the 
front  ranks  of  high  mountain  forests.  A  timber- 
line  veteran  might  tell  of  the  wealth  of  moonlight 


76    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

on  a  winter  night,  with  forest  outposts  half  buried 
in  the  white  snow;  of  crowded  stars  in  the  field  of 
space;  of  terrific  winds  and  irresistible  avalanches 
of  vast  snow  piles. 

With  flying  snow,  in  perfect  autumn  days  and 
during  mist-filled  nights,  I  have  slept  and  com- 
muned with  my  camp-fire  at  timberline.  Timber- 
line  gives  one  the  feeling  of  being  on  the  edge  of 
things.  Envelop  it  in  unevenly  moving  mist  and 
everything  seems  a  mystery.  The  strangely  shaped 
trees  and  the  weird  forms  of  tree  clumps  half  re- 
vealed are  a  part  of  the  indefinite,  the  uncom- 
prehended.  Add  to  this  vague  realm  the  magic 
of  a  camp-fire,  and  one  loses  the  experience  of  ages 
and  again  is  a  primitive,  crouching  fire  worshipper 
in  a  new  and  unexplored  world.  A  camp-fire  ever 
recalls  the  ages  long  past,  and  paints  primeval 
scenes.  Through  all  the  centuries  the  camp-fire 
has  been  a  place  of  safety  and  comfort,  of  hope  and 
cheer. 

Though  they  stand  in  one  place  all  their  years, 
trees  have  adventurous  lives  from  their  seedling 
days  to  battered  old  age,  and  stored  in  their  un- 
rolled and  untranslated  annual  rings  are  their  rec- 
ords and  perhaps  glimpses  of  the  everchanging 
scenes  in  which  they  grew.  Sometimes  while 
watching  my  changing  camp-fire  blaze  I  have  half 
believed  that  the  blazing  tree  was  picturing  with 
fire  the  story  of  its  life — the  larger  experiences  of 
the  years;  the  triumphs  of  the  good  seasons  and  the 


TREES  AT  TIMBERLINE  77 

failures  of  the  bad;  the  battles  with  wind  and  frost, 
with  fire  and  insect  foes.  Surely  no  picture  ever 
painted  is  more  suggestive  than  the  camp-fire. 
With  it  the  imagination  brings  the  dead  past  back 
to  life,  and  its  people  in  fitting  scenes  act  again  the 
parts  they  once  played. 

The  Big  Trees  of  California  are  the  greatest  liv- 
ing wonders  of  the  world.  In  the  serene  Sierras 
they  have  achieved  the  dignity  befitting  the  larg- 
est and  the  oldest  living  things  upon  this  earth. 
Compared  with  these  Big  Trees  the  timberline 
trees  of  the  Rockies  are  pygmies  and  infants.  Yet 
who  shall  say  that  the  life  story  of  the  timberline 
tree  is  the  less  inspiring.  To  stand  beneath. the 
Big  Trees  is  to  feel  the  silent  eloquence  of  the 
"noblest  of  a  noble  race."  To  stand  above  the 
dwarfed  and  battered  front  ranks  of  the  intrepid 
timberline  forests,  where  the  Storm  King  reigns  and 
the  eagle  soars,  is  to  live  with  fired  imagination 
through  all  the  long  years  of  battle,  and  to  feel 
the  triumphs  of  the  unconquerable.  Timberline 
touches  the  heart  with  a  sense  of  universal  kinship. 


CHAPTER  V 

WIND-RAPIDS    ON   THE    HEIGHTS 

TERRIFIC  winter  winds  occasionally  sweep 
through  the  high  passes  of  the  Continental 
Divide.  Believing  that  their  velocity  was 
sometimes  more  than  one  hundred  miles  an  hour, 
I  planned  to  go  up  and  measure  the  velocity 
of  the  next  wind  that  appeared  to  be  exceeding 
the  speed  limit.  An  air  meter  was  placed  in 
Granite  Pass.  This  was  on  the  Long's  Peak  trail, 
about  one  mile  beyond  the  limits  of  tree  growth 
and  at  an  elevation  of  more  than  two  miles  above 
the  level  of  the  sea. 

One  February  morning  the  rush  and  boom  of 
the  wind  among  the  pines  proclaimed  that  previ- 
ous speed  records  were  likely  to  be  broken.  I  left 
my  cabin  and  started  up  to  the  meter,  which  was 
about  three  thousand  feet  higher  than  my  cabin 
and  five  miles  from  it. 

In  irregular  succession  the  heavy  waves  of  wind 
rolled  down  this  slope  into  the  forest.  A  splendid 
and  stormy  sea  roared  through  the  tree-tops.  The 
first  half  mile  was  through  a  thicket  growth  of  tall 
young  pines.  These  young  and  pliant  trees  were 
bending,  shaking,  and  streaming  in  the  wind.     I 

78 


WIND-RAPIDS  ON  THE  HEIGHTS  79 

turned  aside  from  the  trail  to  see  the  behaviour  of 
the  tallest  woods,  a  dense  growth  of  Engelmann 
spruce,  at  the  bottom  of  the  steep  slope  of  Battle 
Mountain. 

I  climbed  into  a  tree-top  one  hundred  feet  high. 
Around  me  the  tall  and  crowded  trees  were  sway- 
ing and  bowing  through  a  dignified  dance.  In- 
visible wind  breakers  produced  sudden  dips  and 
vigorous  sweeps  that  my  old  tree  thought  he  en- 
joyed. Occasionally  the  tree-top  swayed  in  one 
direction,  then  bowed  in  another.  Once  he  nodded 
in  succession  toward  all  points  of  the  com; 
tracing  a  wavy  circle  perhaps  twenty  feet  in  diame- 
ter. Then  he  straightened  up  again  to  the  per- 
pendicular. The  entire  forest  was  suddenly  tilted 
forward  by  a  violent  wind  wave  and  without  the 
least  warning  I  was  clinging  to  a  leaning  tower. 
Engelmann  spruce  wood  is  not  celebrated  for 
toughness  so  I  quickly  descended  to  earth. 

In  the  shelter  of  the  storm-battered  trees  at 
timberline  I  looked  out  into  the  yellow,  sand- 
filled  air  upon  a  treeless  Arctic  moorland.  The 
gale  tore  among  the  trees  with  ever-varying  in- 
tensity. Sand  and  gravel  pattered  and  rattled 
against  the  scarred  and  veteran  pines.  I  climbed 
a  low,  stocky  tree  which  the  hardest  wind  waves 
struck.  This  tree  was  so  rigid  that  it  quivered 
and  oscillated  like  a  building  in  an  earthquake. 

At  the  altitude  of  11,500  feet  I  emerged  from 
the  woods  and  faced  the  gale.     It  assailed  me  with 


8o  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

a  sand  blast  which  bruised  my  hands  and  brought 
blood  from  my  face,  and  speedily  drove  me  back 
into  the  woods.  Again  I  tried.  This  time  I 
crawled  forward  between  low,  heathy  growths.  At 
the  start  these  afforded  a  little  protection  but  as 
I  advanced  the  wind  swept  through  more  swiftly 
and  violently.  I  was  glad  to  crawl  out  into  the 
open  moorland.  Here,  after  an  advance  of  a  few 
hundred  yards,  I  paused  to  rest  in  the  lee  of  a 
butte  of  granite.  Thicker  than  hail  the  sand  and 
gravel  rained  down  upon  me;  a  roll  of  my  coat 
caught  a  handful.  Much  of  this  consisted  of 
sand-bits  the  size  of  a  pencil  point,  but  there 
were  a  few  pieces  of  gravel  the  size  of  hazel 
nuts;  the  remainder  was  rock  dust  crushed  by  col- 
liding with  the  cliff. 

It  was  a  warm,  dry,  chinook  wind.  Its  tempera- 
ture was  several  degrees  above  the  freezing  point. 
There  had  been  but  little  snow,  and  only  a  few 
small,  icy  drifts  lay  scattered  upon  the  brown,  bare 
moor.  The  sun  shone  in  a  cloudless  sky,  but  the 
air  was  so  filled  with  rock  dust  that  objects  more 
than  one  hundred  feet  away  were  out  of  focus  in 
the  hazy  yellow  air.  The  effect  was  that  of  a  des- 
ert sand  storm;  the  wind,  however,  was  of  greater 
velocity  and  carried  less  dust  than  in  desert 
storms. 

Leaving  the  shelter  of  the  cliff,  I  again  advanced 
by  crawling.  A  brief  stop  was  made  behind  a  rock 
point  about  five  feet  high.     Here  the  wind  poured 


WIND-RAPIDS  ON  THE  HEIGHTS  81 

down  upon  me  with  such  force  that  it  could  not 
be  endured. 

Thus  far  above  the  limits  of  the  trees  not  a  living 
thing  had  showed  itself,  but  in  crawling  along  the 
edge  of  an  icy  snowdrift  I  came  upon  a  number  of 
ptarmigan.  Many  were  sitting  in  little  nests 
just  the  size  of  their  bodies,  which  they  had  made 
in  the  hard  snow.  A  few  were  bravely  feeding. 
Squatting  low,  they  grabbed  at  weed  seeds  and 
other  edible  objects  that  came  sifting  down  over 
the  snow.  Though  in  a  sheltered  place,  one  of 
them  was  occasionally  bowled  over  by  the  wind. 
On  regaining  its  feet,  it  struggled  back  into  its 
nest.  But  not  one  risked  opening  its  wings.  Ap- 
parently they  considered  me  as  harmless  as  a  moun- 
tain sheep.  With  curious  eyes,  they  allowed  me 
to  crawl  by  within  three  feet. 

The  wind  met  me  with  violent  dashes,  with 
moderate  movements,  and  with  occasional  inter- 
vals that  were  almost  calm.  In  many  of  its  rushes 
the  wind  rolled  forward  like  a  stormy  breaker,  with 
invisible,  unbroken  wave  front  in  a  sustained  roar. 
At  other  times,  this  great  wave  was  broken  into 
wild  maelstroms,  terrific  spirals  of  various  diame- 
ters and  tilted  at  every  angle.  Sometimes  a  wave 
went  forward  with  long,  bouncing  leaps,  bounding 
entirely  clear  of  the  earth  for  long  distances,  then 
striking  heavily  to  roll  and  break,  like  a  breaker 
on  the  beach.  Occasionally,  over  a  small  space, 
there  was  an  explosive  effect  that  sent  dust  and 


82  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

gravel  flying.  With  slouch  hat  and  mittened 
hands  I  protected  my  face  as  best  I  could.  A 
few  times  a  violent,  narrow  whirlwind  cut  un- 
restrained into  unrelated  air  currents.  Like  the 
explosion  of  a  cannon  and  by  sheer  speed  and  force, 
it  smashed  its  way  diagonally  across  and  through 
other  rushing  winds. 

Most  of  the  time  I  crawled,  but  occasionally 
during  a  calm  I  rose  up  and  ran  forward  a  few 
hundred  feet.  Except  during  lulls  it  was  perilous 
to  stand  erect.  These  winds  could  not  be  with- 
stood by  bracing.  Main  strength  did  not  answer. 
Rarely  did  they  strike  straight  forward;  they  struck 
on  every  side.  Seldom  was  I  blown  over,  but  I 
was  kicked  into  the  air  and  I  was  sometimes 
knocked  down  or  hurled  to  one  side. 

At  last  I  gained  the  air  meter.  It  was  up  at 
12,000  feet  and  stood  where  the  wind  simply 
pounded  through  the  pass.  The  meter  cups  were 
making  a  blurred  wheel  of  speed;  a  few  times  they 
showed  the  wind  at  one  hundred  and  seventy  miles 
an  hour. 

Around  me  were  high  peaks  and  deep  canons, 
level  plateaus  and  crag-torn  slopes.  These  inter- 
cepted and  deflected  the  wind  waves  and  currents. 
Against  these  obstructions  the  powerful,  invisible 
wind  hurled  itself  more  uproariously  than  storm- 
stirred  sea  against  defying  and  moveless  shore. 

Ever  from  some  quarter  came  an  unending  roar. 
Splendid  were  the  deep  sounds  and  thunderings, 


WIND-RAPIDS  ON  THE  HEIGHTS  83 

ponderously  heavy  and  prolonged  were  the  booms 
of  the  wind.  These  often  mingled  with  terrific, 
crashing  explosions  which  even  the  elastic  air  did 
not  always  soften.  There  were  long,  ripping  sounds, 
as  the  diverted  wind  rolled  up  a  slope  or  tore 
around  a  corner.  Then,  strange  were  the  seconds 
of  ominous,  almost  breathless,  calm. 

After  reading  the  meter,  I  went  higher.  Carried 
away  with  the  wild,  elemental  eloquence  of  the 
storm,  I  concluded  to  get  effects  from  the  high 
ledges  and  finally  from  the  summit  of  Long's  Peak. 

Every  step  advanced,  each  new  height  somehow 
gained,  was  a  fight.  It  took  all  my  endurance  and 
it  stimulated  utmost  alertness.  I  simply  crawled 
forward  and  upward.  And  I  wrestled  with  an 
invisible,  unresting  contestant  who  occasionally 
tried  to  hurl  me  over  a  ledge  or  smash  my  bones 
against  the  rocks. 

For  a  mile  I  made  my  way  across  a  moraine  with 
the  wind  beating  against  my  right  side.  The 
scattered  boulders  made  travelling  difficult;  many 
were  large  and  had  to  be  climbed  over.  Such  activi- 
ties often  gave  the  wind  the  eagerly  used  opportun- 
ity of  shooting  me  with  icy  pellets  and  of  knocking 
me  off  my  feet. 

At  the  altitude  of  thirteen  thousand  feet,  the 
trail  was  through  a  rocky  opening  called  Keyhole. 
Here  the  wind  rushed  in  an  invisible  but  irresisti- 
ble flood.  To  go  against  it  was  sheer  madness, 
so  I  climbed  down  and  around  Keyhole.     While 


84    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

doing  this,  as  I  lay  flat  on  my  face,  I  was  caught 
by  a  rush  of  wind.  It  lifted  me  a  foot  or  two,  then 
jammed  me  back.  After  repeating  this,  it  pitched 
me  headlong! 

The  wind  swept  out  of  the  west  and  came  in 
contact  with  the  Divide  at  right  angles.  On 
the  east  the  wind  blew  everywhere;  but  strangely 
enough  on  the  western  side  it  struck  the  moun- 
tains from  eleven  thousand  feet  upward,  be- 
low this  was  perfect  calm.  By  watching  the 
whirling  snow  and  other  wind-blown  materials,  I 
judged  this  wind  current  to  be  about  two  thousand 
feet  thick.  Above,  approximately  thirteen  thou- 
sand feet,  was  an  air  current  moving  in  nearly  the 
opposite  direction.  In  crossing  the  Divide  this 
wind  that  was  blowing  high  above  the  earth  on 
the  west  side  closely  raked  the  earth  on  the  eastern 
side.  From  points  near  the  top  of  the  Peak  I 
looked  out  over  my  home  to  the  east.  Two  thou- 
sand feet  above  it  the  air  was  comparatively  free 
from  dust.  To  the  east  I  saw  a  number  of  birds 
flying  high  and  plainly  in  a  calm  stratum  of  air. 

As  I  continued  upward  above  thirteen  thousand 
feet,  the  wind  gushed  and  stormed  through  the 
narrow  openings  between  pinnacles  and  around 
the  large  rocks  in  debris  piles.  I  crawled  through 
a  number  of  these  openings.  There  are  rapids  in 
rivers  and  rapids  in  air  streams.  Running  a  river 
rapid  in  a  boat  is  exhilarating.  Crawling  through 
a  wind  rapid  is  even  more  intense.     It  lacks  most 


WIND-RAPIDS  ON  THE  HEIGHTS  85 

of  the  exhilaration  that  goes  with  the  river  rapid, 
but  exhilaration  is  not  wholly  absent.  In  bays  and 
channels  of  the  sea  the  restless  waters  wildly  eddy; 
powerful,  invisible  undertows  and  whirlpools  are 
present  where  wild,  defiant  winds  are  diverted. 

Rock  projections,  behind  which  I  hoped  to  find 
shelter,  were  more  unfriendly  places  than  the  open. 
The  wind  appeared  to  round  them  with  increased 
speed,  and  to  batter  the  leeward  more  furiously 
than  the  stormward  front.  Around  a  number  of 
rocky  projections  the  wind  revolved  with  swirling 
rapidity.  It  hurled  me  off  with  centrifugal  mo- 
tion each  time  I  made  close  approach.  Once  I 
blundered  by  breaking  into  one  of  these  whirls, 
and  was  roughly  handled  while  in  and  while  getting 
out  of  it. 

Each  time  that  I  hugged  the  earth  more  closely 
than  usual,  the  wind  took  a  sheer  delight  in  paying 
me  personal  attentions.  While  many  of  these  calls 
were  with  evil  intentions,  the  others  were  but  the 
investigations  of  the  curious.  I  was  grabbed  and 
then  slammed  back;  I  was  trampled  upon  and  sev- 
eral times  was  recklessly  dragged  over  rough 
stones.  I  was  occasionally  raised  gently  upward, 
then  laid  gently  down;  rolled  slowly  over,  then 
turned  slowly  back.  Once  I  was  picked  carefully 
up  by  a  current  that  carried  me  off  as  carefully  as 
if  to  first  aid;  but  from  this  I  was  rudely  snatched 
by  an  angry  wind,  whose  every  effort  was  to  put 
me  in  need  of  this  aid. 


86    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

The  most  difficult  and  dangerous  place  was  at 
a  point  at  an  altitude  of  about  fourteen  thousand 
feet.  This  was  where  a  long,  narrow  gulch  and  a 
fan-like  slope  converged  and  ended  on  the  summit 
of  a  narrow  ridge,  beyond  which  there  was  a  narrow 
ledge,  bounded  by  unbanistered  space.  Sweep- 
ing upward  three  thousand  feet  from  the  bottom 
of  a  canon  came  the  wind  through  converging 
channels  that  ended  in  this  one  narrow  gorge.  My 
struggles  were  intense  in  the  last  few  feet  of  this 
channel.  The  gorge  in  which  I  climbed  was  ex- 
tremely steep,  yet  so  powerful  was  the  wind  current 
that  all  my  strength  was  required  to  prevent  being 
torn  loose,  shot  upward,  and  thrown  over  the  pre- 
cipice. Icy  fragments  torn  from  the  walls,  twigs 
from  a  mile  below,  went  hurtling  and  rattling  by 
and  shot  far  out  over  the  precipice.  Had  I  let  go 
for  even  a  second,  I  should  have  followed  them. 
Not  for  an  instant  did  the  wind  stop;  it  had  the 
constant  rush  of  rapids.  I  eased  myself  upward 
in  the  rushing  wind,  crawling  close,  holding  with 
hands,  and  anchoring  and  holding  rear  down  by 
hooking  feet  behind  and  beneath  rocks.  Trail 
conditions  were  favourable,  and  these  together 
with  my  climbing  experiences,  endurance,  and 
knowledge  of  the  place,  were  of  advantage  to  me. 
All  these  were  needed. 

Just  before  reaching  the  top  of  the  narrow  ridge 
and  the  precipice,  I  felt  the  wind  getting  the  bet- 
ter of  me  and  feared  that  a  slightly  more  violent 


WIND-RAPIDS  ON  THE  HEIGHTS  87 

rush  or  surge  would  tear  my  holds  loose.  So  I  con- 
cluded to  reverse  ends.  Putting  a  shoulder  against 
a  rock  point,  I  allowed  the  wind  to  push  my  legs 
around,  then  forward.  I  was  then  going  up  feet 
foremost  instead  of  head  foremost.  The  gulley 
was  so  extremely  steep  that  I  was  almost  standing 
or  walking  on  my  head.  This  reverse  of  ends  en- 
abled me  to  brace  effectively  with  my  feet,  and 
also  to  hang  on  more  securely  with  my  hands. 
Little  by  little  I  eased  myself  upward.  There  was 
no  climbing;  the  wind  sucked,  dragged,  pushed,  and 
floated  me  ever  upward. 

At  last  I  safely  crossed  the  ridge,  rounded  a  point, 
and  sat  down  for  a  long  rest  on  the  famous  Narrows 
of  the  Long's  Peak  trail.  The  Narrows  is  a  ledge 
with  a  precipice  in  front  and  a  wall  behind.  This 
wall  rises  precipitously  to  the  summit;  the  pre- 
cipice makes  a  wild,  steep  descent  of  two  thousand 
feet.  It  is  none  too  wide  for  a  thoroughfare  that  has 
unbanistered  space  before  it.  Fortunately,  it  was 
sheltered  from  the  wind,  otherwise  traversing  it 
would  not  have  been  either  safe  or  sane. 

Why  did  I,  in  this  perilous  gale,  in  this  wild  wind, 
venture  precipices  and  go  up  into  the  sky  on  a  peak 
nearly  three  miles  above  the  seven  restless  seas  ? 

Irresistible  is  nature's  call  to  play.  This  call 
comes  in  a  thousand  alluring  forms.  It  comes  at 
unexpected  times  and  sends  us  to  unheard-of 
places.  We  simply  cannot  tell  what  nature  will 
have  of  us,  or  where  next.     But  from  near  and  far, 


88  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

ever  calls  her  eloquent  voice.  In  work  and  in 
dreams  she  shows  a  thousand  ways,  suggests  the 
presence  of  wonderlands  yet  unseen.  She  pictures 
alluring  scenes  in  which  to  rest  and  play;  in  mys- 
terious ways  she  sends  us  eagerly  forth  for  unsealed 
heights  and  fairylands.  Of  these  she  whispers,  or 
of  them  she  sounds  her  bugle  song.  She  fascinat- 
ingly commands  and  charms  us  to  other  scenes. 
We  rush  to  respond  and  fix  our  eyes  on  a  happy 
horizon,  toward  which  we  hurry;  but  ere  we  reach 
it  she  calls  elsewhere,  and  elsewhere,  with  highest 
hopes  of  a  boy  at  play,  we  hasten.  It  was  seriously 
splendid  to  play  with  these  wild  winds.  There  is 
no  greater  joy  than  wrestling  naked  handed  with 
the  elements. 

My  most  uncertain  work  was  a  little  below  the 
summit.  The  ridge  that  had  shielded  my  crawling 
came  to  an  end.  I  was  on  the  edge  of  a  steep,  short 
slope  that  ended  at  the  top,  but  this  slope  was 
smooth  and  icy  and  at  the  bottom  paid  tribute  to 
a  precipice.  It  was  too  slippery  to  climb.  Across 
it  swept  the  deflected  wind  current.  On  the  op- 
posite side  the  current  struck  a  ridge  and  with 
diminished  force  shot  upward  to  the  summit.  Ap- 
parently this  wind  rushed  as  steadily  as  a  mountain 
river.  It  was  swift  enough  to  sweep  me  across; 
but  if  it  hesitated  after  I  cast  my  lot  in  it,  down  the 
toboggan  slope  I  would  slide.  Eagerly  I  pushed 
myself  out  into  it  and  let  go.  Across  it  rushed  me, 
sprawling,  bumping  me  into  the  rocky  ridge  be- 


WIND-RAPIDS  ON  THE  HEIGHTS  89 

yond.  Here  the  interrupted  current  lifted  me 
upward.  I  had  little  else  to  do  than  guide  myself. 
Rapidly  it  boosted  to  the  top.  Standing  on  the 
edge  of  the  summit  I  turned  for  a  moment  to  look 
back  down  this  icy  slope  which  later  I  must  some- 
how retrace. 

The  summit  of  Long's  Peak  is  14,255  feet  above 
the  sea  and  about  four  hundred  feet  in  diameter. 
It  is  comparatively  level  though  not  smooth. 
Granite  stones  and  slabs  of  various  sizes  cover  the 
top. 

In  terrific,  weighty  rushes  the  wind  splendidly 
thundered  against  the  west  wall  of  the  summit. 
All  this  time  the  wind  was  continuously  roaring 
round  lower  pinnacles  and  terrifically  booming 
against  the  lower  obstructions.  The  old  Peak  met 
these  cyclonic  rushes  with  strange  impassiveness, 
without  a  tremble.  Deflected  by  the  west  wall, 
the  current  shot  upward  for  a  hundred  feet  or  so. 
The  top  of  the  Peak  was  thus  left  in  comparative 
calm. 

I  ventured  too  close  to  the  west  edge,  and  my 
hat  was  torn  off.  It  started  skyward  like  a  rocket, 
but  less  than  one  hundred  feet  above  the  Peak  it 
fell  out  of  the  uprush  and  into  the  large,  slowly 
rotating  eddy  that  covered  the  space  over  the  top. 
Slowly  around  in  a  large  air  whirlpool  the  hat  was 
carried.  I  threw  a  number  of  stones,  trying  to 
bring  it  back  to  earth.  Presently  the  forward  cur- 
rent caught  it.     Then  like  a  duck  in  a  wind  the 


9o      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

hat  shot  forward,  pointing  straight  at  a  lower  and 
near-by  lighting  place. 

A  flock  of  rosy  finches  were  feeding  off  the  stuff 
that  sifted  down  out  of  the  wind.  As  I  watched 
them,  they  were  unmindful  of  the  wind  and  had 
thought  of  no  danger.  But  behind  a  near-by  stone 
a  beady-eyed  weasel  watched  and  waited. 

Far  down  the  range  to  the  south  quantities  of 
snow  were  being  explosively  hurled  into  the  air. 
This  showed  that  there  had  been  a  recent  snowfall 
and  also  that  the  wind  had  just  reached  that  scene. 
The  scattered  snow  was  thrown  high  in  the  air 
into  spirals  and  whirls  and  then  seized  and  carried 
flying  to  the  leeward.  This  powdered  snow  trim- 
med the  Peak  points  with  steamy  whirls  and  gauzy 
banners  and  silky  pennants  through  which  the 
sunlight  played.  Northward  for  one  hundred 
miles  the  gale  was  sweeping  eastward,  and  a 
stratum  of  dust  hid  the  Wyoming  plains.  The  sky 
above  was  clear  and  strangely  blue.  The  sun  shone 
brightly.  My  shadow  against  a  granite  monolith 
stood  out  as  if  of  a  dark  and  sculptured  figure  cut 
from  stone. 


THE  woods  were  made  for  the  hunters  of  dreams, 

The  brooks  for  the  fishers  of  song; 
To  the  hunters  who  hunt  for  the  gunless  game 

The  streams  and  the  woods  belong. 
There  are  thoughts  that  moan  from  the  soul  of  a  pine, 

And  thoughts  in  the  flower  bell  curled; 
And  the  thoughts  that  are  blown  with  the  scent  of  the  fern 

Are  as  new  and  as  old  as  the  world. 

— Sam  Walter  Foss. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    ARCTIC   ZONE    OF    HIGH   MOUNTAINS 


THE  peaks  and  plateaus  of  high  mountains 
are  distinguished  by  a  climatic  zone  that  is 
somewhat  similar  to  that  of  Arctic  regions. 
Many  species  of  plants  and  birds  of  polar  zones 
are  found  in  the  broken  summit  lands  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  the  Sierra,  and  other  high-lifted  moun- 
tains. The  Alps,  the  summit  slopes  of  the  Hima- 
layas and  other  Asiatic  mountains,  those  of  Mex- 
ico and  the  Andes,  all  carry  their  own  characteristic 
Arctic  gardens. 

Mount  Washington  and  a  few  of  the  peaks  of 
New  England  and  New  York,  and  numbers  of  the 
peaks  in  national  parks  carry  luxuriant  wild  Arctic 
gardens  on  their  high-held  heads  and  shoulders. 
On  Mount  Rainier,  between  the  timberline  and  the 
snow  line,  there  is  perhaps  the  greatest  wild  garden 
in  the  world.  A  great,  brilliantly  coloured  wreath 
a  mile  wide  and  fifty  miles  in  circumference  en- 
circles the  peak,  touched  here  and  there  with 
glaciers.  On  Mount  McKinley,  between  three 
thousand  and  seven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea, 
is  another  splendid  and  magnificent  garden  filled 
with  wild  flowers  and  wild  life. 

93 


94  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

In  the  Colorado  Rockies  the  Arctic  outpost  that 
lies  above  the  timberline  embraces  about  five  mil- 
lion acres.  It  has  more  than  one  thousand  peaks. 
These  sky-held,  island-like  areas,  more  than  two 
miles  above  the  sea,  are  less  known  than  islands 
of  the  South  Sea.  They  carry  lakes,  canons, 
tundras,  moorlands,  snowfields,  and  many  a  lichen- 
tinted  cliff  and  rock  slide. 

This  mountain  plateau  region  of  the  Rockies 
which  lies  between  the  peak  summits  and  the  tim- 
berline is  a  world  by  itself.  It  has  its  storms 
and  its  moving  wreaths  and  strata  of  clouds,  and 
also  its  full  share  of  sunshine.  It  carries  rare 
scenery,  and  its  countless  outlying  rims  and  edges, 
where  the  plateaus  of  the  sky  break  off  and  steeply 
descend  into  lakes,  canons,  and  mountain  valleys, 
are  scene-commanding  viewpoints;  these  are  close 
to  the  stars,  show  the  forests  and  streams,  the 
lights  and  shadows  below  and  the  sunset  clouds  on 
the  near-by  horizons  of  the  sky. 

Brilliant  wild  flowers  enrich  the  treeless  prairies 
and  the  grassy,  sedgy  meadows.  Many  are  dwarfed 
to  tiny  smallness  but  others  grow  with  even  greater 
than  lowland  vigour.  Their  colours  are  varied 
and  brilliant  and  many  are  perfumed. 

In  these  sky  lands  numerous  birds  nest  and  sing; 
here  bears  and  woodchucks  roam;  grasshoppers 
leap  and  fan  their  wings,  and  butterflies  float  in 
painted  glory. 

It  is  the  home  of  the  Bighorn  and  the  cony;  the 


THE  ARCTIC  ZONE  OF  HIGH  MOUNTAINS     95 

ptarmigan  and  the  rosy  finch,  too,  enjoy  this  realm 
throughout  the  year.  But  the  summer  visitors 
are  also  happy:  deer,  elk,  coyotes,  southland  birds, 
and  eagles  all  make  merry  on  its  peaks  and  moor- 
lands. So,  too,  do  the  flocks  of  birds  of  many 
species  from  lowlands  and  far  north  who  briefly 
visit  it  during  the  early  autumn  for  picnic  feasts 
while  journeying  toward  winter  homes  somewhere 
under  southern  skies. 

One  of  the  strangest  wild-life  gatherings  that  I 
have  ever  seen  was  in  the  Arctic-alpine  zone  of  a 
mountain  plateau  twelve  thousand  feet  above  the 
sea.  If  you  wish  to  have  an  experience  entirely 
new,  to  see  wild  birds  and  wild  animals  in  a  happy 
commingling  in  the  mountains,  to  witness  a  bois- 
terous wild-life  feast  and  fair,  then  visit  the  realm 
just  above  the  timberline  in  the  Rocky  Mountains 
when  the  birds  are  flying  south. 

No  food  station  along  the  way  of  migrating  birds 
can  show  a  more  motley  or  spectacular  gathering 
than  an  autumnal  one  on  these  heights.  It  is 
often  made  up  of  flocks  of  migrating  birds 
representing  numerous  species.  They  come  from 
Alaska,  from  the  "  barren  lands/'  the  mountains 
of  British  Columbia,  and  the  birch-margined 
streams  of  the  North  Woods.  They  are  bound 
for  winter  homes  and  picnic  lands  in  Texas,  Mex- 
ico, Cuba,  Orinoco,  and  Argentina. 

In  addition  to  migrating  birds,  there  are  resi- 
dent birds  and  visitors  from  down  the  mountain 


96   THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

slopes,  birds  from  the  Southland  that  have  sum- 
mered in  the  heights,  and  birds  that  have  come 
up  from  near  but  lower  territory  for  this  autumnal 
feast.  They  gather  from  near  and  far,  like  folks 
at  a  fair. 

Each  spring  most  birds  move  northward  a  few 
hundred  or  a  few  thousand  miles.  Most  of  them 
nest  and  summer  in  the  scenes  which  their  ances- 
tors selected.  As  soon  as  the  children  are  ready 
to  travel  they  start  for  the  Southland.  As  a  rule, 
they  travel  by  easy  stages,  though  a  number  of 
species  travel  rapidly.  But  all  must  have  food 
along  the  way.  And  in  the  heathy  places  of  the 
heights,  close  to  the  eternal  snowfields — in  the 
Arctic  moorlands  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  two 
miles  above  the  level  of  the  sea — many  birds 
pause  and  celebrate.  With  this  celebration  they 
close  summer,  begin  autumn,  and  anticipate  the 
winter. 

The  setting  for  this  festival  is  one  of  strange 
beauty  and  wild  magnificence.  The  forest  frontier 
with  its  scattering  of  dwarfed  and  storm-battered 
trees  curtains  this  stage  from  the  world  below; 
storied  old  snow-piles  are  a  part  of  the  scenery; 
so,  too, the  high, near  peaks;  the  enormous  moraines; 
the  clear  brooks — glad  and  wild  with  energy,  vig- 
orously beginning  a  thousand-mile  journey  to 
the  sea.  Crags  stand  in  heathy  meadows,  and 
huge,  scattered  boulders  are  near  the  low-growing 
Arctic   willows.     Leaves   in   the   forest   edge   are 


ttt; 


Wm^l^ll 


THE  ARCTIC  ZONE  OF  HIGH  MOUNTAINS     97 

taking  on  autumn  colour,  and  in  the  open  spaces 
the  mountainside  is  bright  with  late  flowers. 

In  these  moorlands  are  scattered  the  last  and 
best  of  Nature's  crop  of  choice  berries — kinnikinick, 
currant,  wintergreen,  blueberry,  and  bunchberry. 
In  the  lowlands  the  berries  have  been  gone  for  days 
and  even  weeks.  One  feels  that  Nature  is  taking 
unusual  liberties  in  the  plant  world;  that  summer 
has  added  a  postscript  to  her  season  and  has 
climbed  the  mountain  tops  for  the  benefit  of  her 
feathered  and  furred  creatures. 

Arctic  plants  are  scattering  their  seeds  to  the 
winds.  The  succulent  leaves  of  many  of  the  plants 
which  farther  down  the  mountain  slope  or  in  the 
valley  have  long  since  made  plans  for  winter,  are 
here  in  season  and  hanging  on  in  all  their  early 
summer  beauty. 

With  the  last  stand  of  summer— with  its  flowers, 
berries,  and  seeds — are  grasshoppers  and  numer- 
ous accompanying  varieties  of  insects  that  live 
upon  the  small  plant  growths.  Butterflies  also 
flourish  in  this  land  of  much  sunshine  and  few 
storms,  and  add  their  touch  of  beauty  to  the  land- 
scape. But  they  are  susceptible  to  the  slightest 
change  in  temperature  or  weather,  and  at  the  first 
warning  from  cloud  or  wind  drop  to  the  ground 
and  remain  motionless  until  all  is  clear  again. 

Besides  resident  and  migrating  birds  there  are 
resident  animals,  and  those  that  have  climbed 
up  from  the  lower  slopes.     These  wild  creatures, 


98   THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

both  great  and  small,  are  certain  to  find  and  to 
enjoy  the  rare  feast  that  Nature  spreads.  This 
region  above  timberline  is  little  visited  by  man, 
and  rarely  are  its  spectacles  seen. 

The  Bighorn  sheep— the  monarch  of  the  moun- 
tain tops — sometimes  looks  on  at  these  feasts. 
He  is  at  home  among  the  crags  in  any  season  or 
condition  of  weather,  and  travels  over  the  steep 
and  rocky  prominences  with  as  little  concern  as 
though  it  were  the  most  ordinary  of  accomplish- 
ments. Sheep  often  cross  the  paths  of  deer  and 
elk  who  go  to  these  heights  for  choice  pasture,  and 
at  this  season  of  the  year  it  is  not  unusual  to  find 
both  grazing  in  some  rich  upland  meadow. 

From  an  advantageous  point  upon  an  out- 
reaching  crag,  an  uninvited  guest  at  their  recep- 
tion, I  was  absorbed  in  watching  a  pair  of  bears 
that  were  slowly,  deliberately,  approaching  a 
berry  patch,  when  the  shadow  cast  by  a  low- 
soaring  eagle  diverted  my  attention.  The  bears, 
apparently  quite  unconcerned  by  the  eagle's  in- 
vasion of  their  territory,  proceeded  to  devastate 
the  berry  patch.  It  was  evident  that  their  work 
of  laying  up  supplies  for  winter  hibernation  had 
begun. 

White-crowned  sparrows  and  juncos  flew  froxii 
the  bushes,  annoyed  by  the  invading  bears.  Then 
flocks  of  birds,  large  and  small,  began  to  arrive. 
Within  two  hours  I  saw  many  of  the  species  of  bird 
life  that  I  had  followed  with  glass  and  camera  in 


THE  ARCTIC  ZONE  OF  HIGH  MOUNTAINS     99 

forest  and  lowland  during  the  spring  and  summer 
months.  White-crowned  sparrows  who  had  here 
raised  their  second  brood  were  present  in  dozens; 
bluebirds,  too,  were  numerous  with  the  fledglings 
of  both  spring  and  summer;  and  Bohemian  wax- 
wings  had  come  to  join  in  the  general  festivity 
before  wandering  down  the  earth  for  the  winter. 
All  made  the  most  of  this  limited  vacation,  join- 
ing in  the  hilarity  of  the  youngsters  who  had 
not  yet  learned  to  take  life  seriously.  For  with 
the  bird  children  that  predominated  it  was  an 
adventure. 

Literally  thousands  of  birds  were  there;  among 
them  appeared  to  be  a  hundred  or  two  robins, 
flocks  of  rosy  finches,  a  few  home  ptarmigan  in  their 
winter  stockings,  gluttonous  magpies,  boisterous 
Clarke's  nutcrackers  insisting  on  order  which  they 
never  kept,  a  pair  of  gray  jays  from  the  seclusion 
of  the  woods  on  their  yearly  outing,  and  pipits 
crowded  almost  out  of  their  own  home  territory. 
Even  the  grouse  family  was  represented  by  down- 
slope  flocks.  Here,  where  a  sumptuous  feast  was 
spread — and  there  was  plenty  for  all  during  the 
short  period  of  celebration — birds  mingled  and 
intermingled  with  apparent  unconcern.  How  dif- 
ferent would  have  been  their  manner  toward  rival 
neighbours  in  any  other  season  and  place! 

The  ouzel  had  fled  away  along  his  alpine  brook. 
He  was  not  of  the  crowd.  He  rushed  not  for  the 
feast,  but  held  serenely  aloof.     Once  he  paused  to 


ioo    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

sing.  The  clamour  drowned  his  melody,  though 
he  was  close  to  me,  but  his  throat  and  gestures 
told  of  song.  Following  and  skimming  the  stream 
with  every  dip  and  bend  that  it  made,  he  finally 
dropped  with  the  water  behind  a  cascade. 

Merry  chipmunks  scampered  about.  Squirrels 
from  below  came  in  nervous  haste  and  departed 
early.  Their  winter  supplies  were  probably  har- 
vested nearer  home.  Curiosity  alone  made  them 
risk  the  dangers  of  this  promiscuous  gathering  spot. 

Each  bird  plainly  was  there  for  food  and  fun. 
If  the  truth  were  known,  perhaps  no  visitor  re- 
mained long.  It  seemed  not  unlike  a  depot  of 
supplies — an  oasis  in  the  desert;  or  was  it  also  a 
bureau  of  information,  and  a  reception  ?  Here  all 
species  came  for  fare  provided  at  a  time  when  there 
were  scanty  pickings  in  regions  inhabited  the  year 
round;  for  the  young  birds  it  was  a  break  in  the  first 
long  flight;  for  the  old  ones  it  offered  ideal  oppor- 
tunities to  rest — a  breathing  spell  after  the  strenu- 
ous demands  of  raising  and  training  the  young- 
sters. The  scenes  were  constantly  changing,  new 
arrivals  disturbing  the  peace  and  quiet  of  the  spec- 
tacle, or  making  no  impression  on  the  moving 
pageant,  according  to  the  nature  and  habits  of  the 
intruders. 

And  alas!  More  than  once  as  I  watched  the 
banqueters  some  stronger,  more  cunning  foe  sprang 
upon  them  from  a  hiding  place  near  which  they 
ventured*  and  thinned  their  ranks. 


THE  ARCTIC  ZONE  OF  HIGH  MOUNTAINS      101 

A  mountain  lion,  and  hawks  both  singly  and  in 
numbers,  appeared  in  the  course  of  the  day.  There 
was  always  a  general  scattering  till  they  had  taken 
a  sure  departure.  Uninvited,  unwelcome  guests, 
they  seemed  to  be  the  outcasts  of  the  forest  world, 
but  all  unconscious  were  they  of  the  effect  which 
their  presence  made  upon  their  fellow  creatures. 
They  exhibited  their  natural  traits  of  spying, 
prowling,  and  sweeping  down  upon  their  prey, 
which  was  not  always  successful  in  eluding  them. 
And  so  one  species  fed  upon  another,  showing  the 
inexorable  laws  of  Nature  and  the  bitter  struggle 
for  existence  which  cannot  be  suspended  even  dur- 
ing a  short  and  pleasurable  trip  to  this  beautiful 
world  of  the  mountain  tops.  In  fact,  here  as  else- 
where, caution,  cunning,  and  endurance  were  re- 
quired for  these  wild  animal  folk  to  defend  them- 
selves in  their  temporary  abiding  place — their 
exotic  camping  ground. 

For  a  time  two  coyotes  lingered  near,  watching 
the  scene  and  looking  occasionally  at  each  other 
as  if  exchanging  similar  ideas  concerning  the 
demonstration.  One  broke  away  and  a  few  minutes 
later  disappeared  down  in  the  woods.  The  other 
sat  back  on  his  haunches,  and  as  though  having 
forgotten  his  purpose,  became  deeply  engrossed  in 
moral  reflection  appropriate  to  the  occasion. 

The  coyote  appears  to  be  the  philosopher  and  the 
cynic  of  the  wilds.  Though  ever  hungry,  ever 
seeking  a  feast,  he  seems  always  readv  to  show 


io2    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

contempt  for  the  duller  wits  of  the  world,  and  to 
indulge  in  a  flow  of  philosophic  thought  concerning 
wild-folk  habits  and  follies. 

During  a  temporary  calm  in  proceedings  two 
deer  passed  not  far  away.  They  had  perhaps 
come  down  from  a  moorland  where  early  snows 
temporarily  covered  their  grazing  land.  A  num- 
ber of  Bighorn  sheep,  which  had  long  been  enjoying 
these  unusual  demonstrations  in  their  stamping 
ground,  stood  gazing  from  a  gallery  of  a  boulder 
pile.  They  had  no  fear  of  being  molested,  for  in 
a  fraction  of  a  second  they  could  drop  off  the  ledge 
and  descend  into  the  canon  in  safety. 

I  could  have  watched  this  mixed  populace  of  the 
wilderness  not  only  for  hours,  but  for  days.  What 
I  had  seen  was  only  a  small  part  of  that  wonderful 
transformation  of  the  quiet,  treeless  realm  which 
occurs  once  a  year,  occupying,  with  variations, 
several  days.  It  is  a  strange  and  scenic  common 
meeting  place  of  bird  and  beast,  friend  and  foe. 


CHAPTER  VII 

NATURALIST   MEETS    PROSPECTOR 

NO  TREE-TOP  adventures  were  in  my 
plans  when,  one  autumn  afternoon,  I 
started  out  for  a  three  weeks'  trip  on  the 
summit  slopes  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Nor 
was  I  planning  to  have  discussions  with  pros- 
pectors. Their  ways  were  not  mine,  nor  my  ways 
theirs;  which  fact,  as  will  be  seen,  caused  me  trou- 
ble. 

I  thought  to  be  in  the  wilds  alone.  I  carried  no 
firearms;  just  a  raincoat,  a  few  pounds  of  raisins, 
and  a  hatchet.  Along  the  way  I  intended  to  visit 
beaver  colonies,  trees  at  timberline,  alpine  lakes, 
and  glacier  meadows,  and  hoped  to  extend  my 
acquaintance  with  that  strange  tree — the  lodge- 
pole  pine.  I  had  made  many  similar  trips  and  was 
ready  as  usual  to  delay  and  watch  wild  animals  by 
the  hour,  or  to  turn  aside  and  investigate  any  sub- 
ject of  interest,  whether  new  or  old. 

For  a  while  all  went  smoothly.  A  few  miles 
from  my  cabin  I  came  to  a  number  of  beaver  colo- 
nies on  the  slope  of  Long's  Peak.  They  were  strung 
bead-like  in  the  shallow  channel  of  a  stream  along 
the  top  of  a  gigantic  moraine  that  thrust  forward 

U03 


io4    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

like  a  great  delta  from  a  canon.  At  that  time  it 
was  commonly  believed  that  winter  weather  could 
be  foretold  from  the  autumn  preparations  of 
beavers.  If  they  raised  the  height  of  their  dam  and 
deepened  the  pond  it  meant  cold  weather  and 
unusually  thick  ice.  If  they  laid  in  an  extra-large 
food  supply  it  meant  that  the  winter  would  be  long. 
I  had  assumed  this  theory  to  be  correct,  but  on 
this  trip  I  had  to  change  my  old  belief  in  beaver 
weather  wisdom.  At  one  place  two  colonies  side 
by  side  had  made  unlike  preparations.  In  one, 
extensive  and  almost  complete  preparations  had 
been  made  for  the  winter.  In  the  other,  the  beav- 
ers had  just  begun  to  cut  down  trees  for  the  winter 
food  supply  and  neither  house  nor  dam  had  been 
repaired.  After  I  had  seen  many  similar  cases  it 
was  impressed  upon  me  that  the  extent  of  the  pre- 
parations which  beavers  made  for  winter  was  de- 
termined by  the  requirements  of  the  colony,  chiefly 
by  the  number  of  beavers  in  it.  If  dam  or  house 
was  repaired  it  was  because  it  needed  repairs.  Be- 
ginning these  preparations  early  or  beginning  them 
late  might  be  due  to  the  greater  or  less  amount  of 
work  to  be  done,  or  to  the  individuality  of  the 
leader  of  a  colony. 

I  lingered  among  crags  in  a  moorland  above  the 
timberline  and  watched  a  flock  of  Bighorn  sheep. 
A  number  were  feeding,  others  were  playing,  and 
a  few  were  lying  down.  Two  sentinels,  each  poised 
upon  a  commanding  rock,  were  eternally  vigilant 


<3 


£ 


Photo  by  Enos  A.  Mtlh 

Gentleness  and  grandeur  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  National 
Park.     Longs  Peak  in  background 


Photo  by  Enos  A.  Mills 

Lodge  pole  P;nes  cut  by  beavers 


NATURALIST  MEETS  PROSPECTOR         105 

for  possible  danger.  They  appeared  not  to  suspect 
a  near-by  enemy.  On  a  rock  cliff  that  cut  into  the 
sky  a  mountain  lion  crouched  and  occasionally 
raised  his  head.  For  more  than  an  hour  he  lay 
looking  down  on  the  sheep.  When  the  sheep 
started  to  feed  away  from  these  rocks  the  lion  de- 
scended and  disappeared. 

The  first  tree-top  incident  of  my  trip,  though 
interesting,  lacked  the  amusing  yet  annoying  fea- 
tures of  the  later  ones.  In  what  is  now  Wild  Basin 
in  the  Rocky  Mountain  National  Park,  while 
examining  peeled  places  on  high  limbs — evidently 
the  work  of  porcupines — I  chanced  to  look  across 
a  small  near-by  opening  and  saw  a  little  black  bear 
ambling  along.  He  walked  up  to  a  limber  pine 
and  climbed  into  it.  Three  limbs  that  outshot 
from  the  trunk  about  thirty  feet  above  the  earth 
afforded  a  resting  place  and  he  lay  down  upon  his 
back  and  apparently  at  once  went  to  sleep.  Black 
bears  may  almost  be  considered  perching  animals, 
for  much  of  the  time  when  not  active  they  rest 
or  sleep  in  a  tree-top.  Each  bear  appears  to  have 
one  or  more  trees  in  his  territory  that  he  regularly 
uses. 

Then  began  my  adventures. 

In  the  neighbourhood  of  Arapahoe  Peak  I 
climbed  into  another  tree-top  hoping  to  discover 
the  cause  of  the  tree's  dying  condition.  Climbing 
outward  on  a  huge,  steeply  inclined  limb,  I  hugged 
it  closely  and  from  time  to  time  stopped  to  look 


106    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

carefully  into  the  crevices  in  the  broken  bark.  A 
stockman  was  concealed  behind  a  tree  clump  a 
short  distance  away,  watching  me.  He  was  quite 
unable  to  understand  why  an  unarmed  person 
should  be  prowling  through  the  woods  miles  from 
anywhere;  and  why  any  one  should  climb  into  a 
tree  and  examine  it  so  minutely  was  beyond  his 
comprehension.  His  astonishment  knew  no  bounds 
when  I  descended  and  rapidly  removed  earthy 
matter  from  the  roots  so  as  to  examine  them. 

From  this  tree-top  I  had  seen  and  decided  to 
examine  a  tall  spruce  which  appeared  to  be  dying 
from  a  beetle  attack,  and  I  hoped  to  discover  the 
species  of  insect  that  was  doing  the  damage.  To- 
ward this  tree  I  walked  rapidly,  and  hurriedly 
climbed  up  into  it.  The  stockman's  curiosity  got 
the  better  of  him.  He  made  haste  to  follow  me 
and  reached  the  bottom  of  the  tree  about  the  time 
I  had  gained  the  limb  entanglement  in  the  top. 
Throwing  up  a  club  to  attract  my  attention,  he 
demanded:  "Which  one  of  the  monkey  families 
are  you  a  member  of,  anyway?" 

I  descended  to  have  a  talk  with  him.  My  ex- 
planation of  nature  study  as  the  motive  for  the 
strange  actions  he  had  witnessed  was  accepted, 
evidently,  with  the  proverbial  grain  of  salt.  But 
as  I  appeared  harmless  he  let  the  matter  pass  and 
told  me  something  of  himself.  Droughty  condi- 
tions on  the  plains  had  led  him  to  drive  his  small 
herd  of  cattle  into  the  mountains  where  there  was 


NATURALIST  MEETS  PROSPECTOR         107 

luxuriant  feed  in  a  number  of  adjacent  meadows. 
The  stockman  had  a  cabin  near  by.  As  for  a 
number  of  days  I  had  been  living  on  bark  and  ber- 
ries, I  gladly  accepted  his  invitation  and  went 
over  to  supper. 

He  was  born  in  Texas,  had  been  a  cowboy  in  that 
state  and  elsewhere  in  the  southwest,  and  he  enter- 
tained me  mightily  till  midnight  with  stirring 
snatches  of  biography.  Then  I  bade  him  good- 
night, went  back  to  my  old  raincoat,  crawled  into 
it,  built  a  fire,  and  lay  down  to  sleep. 

We  had  parted  the  best  of  friends,  but  in  the 
night  a  wolf  played  me  a  shabby  trick.  He 
raided  the  stockman's  sparsely  populated  hen- 
roost and  carried  off  a  chicken,  which  he  stopped 
to  devour  close  to  my  camp.  A  few  telltale  feath- 
ers were  left.  The  following  day  the  stockman 
called  my  attention  to  them  and  warned  me  that 
it  would  not  be  well  for  me  to  take  another  chicken. 

I  protested  my  innocence,  but  appearances  were 
against  me.  "Here  you  are,"  he  said,  "without 
a  piece  of  bacon  or  a  scrap  of  food  of  any  kind. 
You  don't  have  a  gun  or  any  means  of  procuring 
food  in  the  wilderness.  You  have  no  visible  means 
of  support,  not  even  your  next  meal  is  in  sight. 
Men  are  often  hanged  on  less  satisfactory  evi- 
dence." 

The  next  night  another  chicken  disappeared, 
and  the  following  morning  I  was  awakened  early 
and  rather  violently,  confronted  by  a  stockman 


108    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

and  a  Winchester,  and  told  to  leave  the  country 
speedily.  I  saw  the  futility  of  argument  and 
quickly  complied. 

Arriving  an  hour  or  so  later  on  Buchanan  Pass, 
about  eleven  thousand  feet  above  sea  level,  I  looked 
back  down  the  mountain.  With  the  recent  en- 
counter fresh  in  mind,  I  did  not  wish  to  risk  again 
being  taken  for  a  lunatic  or  a  suspicious  character. 
No  one  was  in  sight,  so  I  stopped  to  examine  a 
number  of  the  sprawling  storm-battered  trees, 
soon  becoming  absorbed  in  their  interesting  fea- 
tures. 

The  place  was  dry  and  wind-swept.  Most  of 
the  trees  were  limber  pines.  Along  the  Continen- 
tal Divide  the  wind  blows  violently,  sometimes 
for  days.  Many  of  the  trees  were  so  wind-worn 
that  they  appeared  a  million  years  old.  Numbers 
were  able  to  grow  only  a  foot  or  so  above  the  level 
of  the  earth.  The  wind's  terrific  sand  blasts  cut 
off  every  exposed  leaf  and  twig.  At  one  place 
nearly  an  acre  was  covered  with  low,  dense  tree 
growth.  Having  a  low  shelter  to  the  windward 
the  trees  had  grown  up  to  the  height  of  nearly  two 
feet.  Above  this  they  were  trimmed  off  almost 
as  level  as  a  lawn.  Again  and  again,  through  count- 
less summers,  the  twigs  had  grown  up,  only  to  be 
mown  off  the  following  winter  by  flying  sand. 
This  had  resulted  in  a  crowded,  matted,  spiny 
growth,  more  dense  and  a  great  deal  more  rigid 
than  a  hedge  top  that  has  been  annually  trimmed 


NATURALIST  MEETS  PROSPECTOR         109 

for  a  generation.  I  walked  readily  all  over  the 
top  and  only  occasionally  did  my  feet  break 
through.  What  a  nice  spring  mattress  it  would 
have  made !  Jumping  into  a  tree-top  or  falling  out 
of  it  here  was  but  a  commonplace  performance. 

Several  miles  down  the  western  slope  of  the 
mountain  a  number  of  pieces  of  rich  gold  float  had 
recently  been  found.  But  I  was  not  long  permitted 
to  revel  in  such  fancies.  While  I  was  examining 
the  little  six-foot  timberline  forest,  three  prospect- 
ors appeared.  They  accosted  me  with  a  request 
for  my  business.  I  told  them  of  my  interest  in 
these  storm-shaped  trees.  They  wanted  to  know 
what  there  was  unusual  about  them.  I  tried  to 
explain  the  great  age  of  these  trees,  the  forces 
that  had  dwarfed  and  distorted  them.  They 
asked  me  for  a  piece  of  bacon.  I  had  none.  They 
desired  to  know  where  my  roll  of  blankets  was. 
I  told  them  I  did  not  carry  one.  Then  they  wanted 
to  know  what  kind  of  a  gun  I  used.  To  find  that 
I  was  unarmed  was  too  much  for  them.  One  asked 
me  where  I  came  from.  He  was  promptly  an- 
swered by  one  of  the  others  who  expressed  the 
conviction  that  I  was  from  an  insane  asylum. 

This  was  another  case  where  explanations  would 
avail  nothing.  Quickly  leaving  these  unsympa- 
thetic fellows  I  crossed  the  mountain,  descending 
the  western  slope.  I  stopped  occasionally  to  ex- 
amine the  trees  and  the  tree  clumps  and  to  talk 
here  and  there  to  an  individual  old  spruce.     With- 


no  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

out  my  knowing  it,  the  prospectors  had  followed  me. 
They  thought  I  might  have  located  a  rich  mine, 
and  my  queer  conduct,  in  their  eyes,  was  simply  a 
ruse  to  throw  them  off  their  guard. 

When  far  down  the  slope  I  concluded  to  count 
the  number  of  trees  in  about  an  acre  of  dense  spruce 
growth.  After  measuring  the  area  I  paced  back 
and  forth  among  the  trees,  touching  each  in  turn, 
talking  to  one  now  and  then,  and  making  many 
oral  comments.  All  the  time,  without  my  suspect- 
ing it,  the  three  prospectors  lay  hidden  near  by 
watching  my  every  move,  hearing  some  of  the 
things  that  I  said,  and  doubtless  commenting 
scornfully  upon  the  show. 

On  this  acre  were  2,741  spruces.  I  discovered 
a  charred  pitch-pine  stump  in  the  spruce  area.  It 
was  closely  surrounded  by  spruces  about  two 
hundred  years  of  age.  The  presence  of  this  fire- 
coloured,  fire-charred  stump  puzzled  me,  for  I  did 
not  then  know  that  this  region  had  been  swept 
by  a  forest  fire  about  two  hundred  years  before 
and  that  the  stump  had  received  fire-preservative 
treatment  which  enabled  it  to  endure  with  but 
little  change.  With  my  hatchet  I  split  off  a  piece 
of  the  wood  and  drawing  my  magnifying  glass  lay 
down  to  examine  it.  This  proceeding  was  too 
much  for  the  prospectors.  They  rushed  upon  me, 
demanding  to  know  if  I  had  found  gold,  and  were 
disgusted  to  see  me  examining  a  piece  of  pitch- 
pine.     Their   comments   were    so   uncivil   that    I 


NATURALIST  MEETS  PROSPECTOR         m 

promptly  left  them  and  wandered  away  into  the 
woods.  Again,  without  my  knowledge,  they  fol- 
lowed. 

After  travelling  about  a  mile  I  came  to  a  glacial 
meadow  surrounded  by  an  Engelmann  spruce 
growth.  In  the  margin  between  spruce  and  mea- 
dow I  found  a  splendid  grove  of  lodgepole  pines 
and  stopped  to  examine  them.  They,  too,  were 
nearly  two  hundred  years  of  age.  They  stood 
close  together,  and  the  crowding  had  prevented 
their  being  much  more  than  towering  poles  about 
one  hundred  feet  high. 

The  lodgepole  pine  lives  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing stories  in  all  the  forest  world.  It  is  a  pioneer 
tree,  one  of  the  first  and  most  successful  to  take 
possession  of  burned-over  areas.  It  is  most  easily 
killed  by  fire,  yet  every  forest  fire  that  sweeps  its 
territory  proves  an  advantage  to  it.  Throughout 
the  West  in  the  last  fifty  years  the  numerous  forest 
fires  have  enabled  the  lodgepole  greatly  to  extend 
its  holdings.  A  complete  cessation  of  forest  fires 
would  almost  exterminate  it.  It  may  be  said  to 
cooperate  with  fires,  so  closely  is  its  life  interrelated 
with  them. 

It  begins  to  bear  seeds  at  an  early  age.  Often 
it  hoards  all  its  seeds,  keeping  them  in  the  cones, 
and  the  cones  on  the  tree,  year  after  year,  some- 
times for  twenty  years  or  longer.  But  if  a  fire 
sweep  its  territory,  the  wax  is  melted  from  the 
cones  that  survive;  they  at  once  open  and  the  seeds 


ii2    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

fall  out,  to  drop  into  ash-covered  soil — a  place 
where  they  will  thrive  the  best.  The  fire  has  con- 
sumed insect  enemies  and  removed  the  cause  of 
shade.  Most  young  trees  will  not  grow  without 
shade,  but  young  lodgepoles  will  not  grow  in  it. 
They  thrive  best  in  the  full  glare  of  the  sun.  Trees 
of  other  species  that  come  among  them  and  grow 
taller  shade  and  exterminate  them. 

I  was  particularly  drawn  to  one  old  fellow  in  this 
grove.  It  was  without  a  limb  for  the  first  fifty  or 
sixty  feet  and  tapered  so  little  that  its  trunk  at  the 
first  limbs  appeared  to  have  a  thickness  about 
equal  to  its  diameter  only  a  few  feet  above  the 
roots!  This  was  a  fraction  more  than  twelve 
inches.  Eager  to  know  the  diameter  at  the  first 
limbs  I  climbed  up. 

Seating  myself  comfortably  on  the  lowest  limb, 
I  was  just  in  the  act  of  measuring  the  trunk  diame- 
ter when  below  I  caught  sight  of  the  three  ap- 
proaching prospectors.  Near  my  tree  they  stop- 
ped and  stared  up  at  me.  Having  no  use  for  them, 
in  fact,  feeling  myself  above  them,  I  paid  no  atten- 
tion but  went  on  measuring.  Presently  one  called, 
"What  in  the  blankety-blank  are  you  doing  up 
there?  Come  down  and  be  blank  quick  about 
it."     Down  I  slid. 

Plainly  they  were  greatly  put  out.  Though  I 
had  certainly  done  them  no  harm,  they  seemed  to 
consider  my  incomprehensible  performance  a  per- 
sonal affront,  and  were  likely  to  handle  me  roughly. 


NATURALIST  MEETS  PROSPECTOR         113 

When  still  three  or  four  feet  above  the  earth  I 
leaped  from  the  tree,  and  the  three  heavy-booted 
men  all  kicked  at  me  at  once.  They  all  missed 
me.  They  made  a  number  of  kicks,  but  being 
agile  I  managed  each  time  to  be  just  where  their 
feet  were  not.  Presently  they  ceased  kicking  and 
declared  that  I  had  been  purposely  misleading 
them  all  day.  My  denial  did  not  help  matters; 
but  they  finally  cut  short  the  interview  by  demand- 
ing that  I  vanish  in  the  woods. 

As  this  was  just  what  I  wanted  to  do  I  complied. 
And  on  the  way  home,  unhampered  by  further  mis- 
understandings of  the  scientific  spirit,  I  continued 
my  acquaintance  with  that  interesting  pioneer 
tree,  the  lodgepole  pine. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   WHITE    CYCLONE 

ONE  bright  winter  day  while  snowshoeing 
through  the  San  Juan  Mountains  I  saw  a 
snowslide  make  a  most  spectacular  "run." 
A  many-thousand-ton  cliff  had  fallen  several  hun- 
dred feet  upon  an  enormous  snow  and  ice  field. 
I  was  standing  on  a  ridge  above  the  timberline 
with  peaks  rising  high  before  me  when  the  crashing 
echoes  warned  me  of  what  was  happening. 

The  slide's  first  move  was  a  high  dive.  The 
dislodged  mass  of  snow,  ice,  and  stones  plunged 
down  an  extremely  steep,  smooth  slope.  Then 
it  slid  and  rammed  a  cliff.  As  it  went  on  it  ram- 
med various  obstructions  and  finally  started  two 
other  avalanches  moving. 

I  first  caught  sight  of  the  snowslide  as  it  struck 
a  low  cliff.  This  contact  crushed  tons  of  snow 
and  ice  to  powder.  The  snow  dust  was  whirled 
into  a  gigantic  geyser-like  column  a  few  hundred 
feet  wide  and  more  than  half  a  mile  high.  It  re- 
mained for  several  seconds  the  highest  object  in 
the  sky,  the  bright  sun  and  blue  heavens  behind 
it,  then  slowly  disbanded. 

With  volume  and  momentum  increasing  as  it  ad- 

114 


THE  WHITE  CYCLONE  115 

vanced,  the  slide  rushed  downward,  pursued  by 
an  enormous  train  of  curling,  whirling,  snow  flour 
and  ice  powder — a  white  cyclone.  One  glimpse 
that  I  had  of  this  gravity-mad  monster  showed  its 
front  rapidly  rolling  and  wildly  somersaulting  for- 
ward. At  the  bottom  of  the  slope  the  slide  mass 
must  have  been  three  hundred  feet  wide,  half  as 
high,  and  two  blocks  or  more  long. 

With  the  momentum  gained  in  its  "run"  the 
slide  rushed  a  quarter  of  a  mile  up  a  slope  which  lay 
in  its  path  and  ascended  about  three  hundred  feet. 
The  up-hill  coasting  caused  telescoping;  a  shorten- 
ing in  the  length,  a  massing  and  enlarging  of  the 
front. 

With  thousands  of  tons  of  rock  in  its  terrible 
front  it  hit  a  low  lateral  moraine  at  right  angles, 
tearing  an  opening  through  the  top.  There  was 
an  explosion,  with  outflying  stones  and  snow,  and 
more  telescoping  occurred.  The  top  of  the  slide 
plunged  forward,  mingling  with  the  upward,  back- 
ward-hurled front.  As  it  struck,  another  splendid 
white  dust  column  rolled  up  and  lingered  for  a 
time  in  the  sky. 

In  tearing  through  the  moraine  the  snowslide 
was  deflected  to  the  left  where  it  slid  up  a  moderate 
slope.  Then  it  curved  to  the  right  and  started 
down  grade.  On  the  monster  swept.  Occasion- 
ally a  section  leaped  high  and  tumbled  upon  the 
mass  in  front.  It  rounded  the  face  of  the  slope, 
cutting  a  contour  in  the  deep  snow  and  loose  stones. 


n6  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

Finally  it  slid  out  on  a  level  flat  and  after  a  wild 
coast  of  three  miles  came  to  a  sudden  standstill. 

In  stopping,  the  bottom  appeared  to  put  on 
brakes  and  drag  heavily,  the  top  to  pitch  forward, 
and  the  upbursting  bottom  to  mingle  with  it. 
When  it  stopped  it  was  a  dark  dump  of  convulsed 
snow  that  covered  an  area  about  three  blocks  long, 
one  wide,  and  perhaps  fifty  feet  deep.  The  wreck- 
age was  a  gray,  concrete-like  mass  of  snow,  earth, 
gravel,  and  stones. 

One  summer,  a  few  years  later,  I  saw  the  rem- 
nant of  this  snowslide.  Most  of  the  snow  and 
ice  had  melted.  Viewed  from  the  top  of  the  ridge 
across  which  it  had  rushed  the  remaining  wreckage 
appeared  like  the  ruins  of  a  huge  building  in  a  little 
grassy  plain.  Conies  and  marmots  had  taken 
possession  of  the  crumbling  earth  and  stones. 

Commonly  a  snowslide  follows  a  gulch  and  does 
not  race  so  wildly.  The  slide  to  be  feared  is  the 
one  that  takes  a  new  route,  running  amuck  and 
smashing  obstacles.  The  big  slide  described  was 
an  unusual  one  of  this  type.  Such  a  slide  may  be 
the  result  of  a  snowdrift  in  a  new  place,  may  be 
caused  by  the  wind  blowing  from  an  unusual  quar- 
ter, or  may  be  started  by  a  land  or  rock  slide  or  the 
undermining  of  an  old  snow  pile. 

As  soon  as  the  slide  stopped  I  started  along  the 
wreck-strewn  way  over  which  it  had  run.  It  had 
travelled  a  crooked  course  and  opened  a  ragged 
channel  through  the  snow.     Its  widest  track  was 


THE  WHITE  CYCLONE  117 

nearly  four  hundred  feet,  but  over  the  most  of  its 
meteoric  course  its  forced  passageway  was  less 
than  one  hundred  feet  wide.  Off  this  most  of  the 
snow  had  been  scraped.  Every  loose  and  detach- 
able object  was  carried  away.  In  spots  its  snout 
had  gouged  into  the  earth.  Along  the  track  were 
scattered  stones  and  snow  piles.  A  few  places 
showed  that  the  momentum  of  the  slide  had  caused 
it  to  jump  without  touching  the  earth.  It  had 
leaped  one  ravine  more  than  fifty  feet  wide. 

Tons  of  shattered  rock  were  swept  forward, 
mostly  in  the  bottom  of  the  slide.  At  one  point  a 
heavy  granite  rock  thrust  up  ten  or  twelve  feet  in 
the  track.  Striking  this  caused  no  perceptible 
check  in  its  wild  speed  but  there  was  a  muffled 
explosion.  Stones  were  flung  from  the  sides  and 
hurled  through  the  top  of  the  slide.  Clouds  of 
snow  dust  were  thrown  off.  This  contact  must 
have  thrown  the  internal  part  of  the  slide  into 
fierce  confusion. 

In  following  the  open  way  through  which  the 
main  slide  tore  I  found  where  this  slide  had  started 
two  others,  one  of  which  I  heard  and  the  other  I 
both  saw  and  heard.  Their  swift,  spectacular 
careers  and  their  wild,  sudden  endings  were  graph- 
ically, dramatically  shown  in  the  torn  and  im- 
printed snow.  These  slides  were  set  in  motion  just 
after  the  main  slide  was  well  under  way.  Although 
I  did  not  see  slide  number  two,  I  heard  it.  Slide 
number  three  I  both  saw  and  heard. 


n8  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

At  one  point  the  main  slide  had  dislodged  a 
number  of  boulders.  The  small  boulders  started 
a  miniature  slide  that  after  slipping  a  short  distance 
came  to  a  standstill.  One  boulder  must  have 
weighed  fifty  tons.  This  enormous  fellow  had 
gone  bounding  down  a  slope  with  long  leaps,  strik- 
ing a  snowdrift  and  a  rock  pile  which  lay  at  the 
top  of  a  steep,  glaciated  incline.  Down  this  incline 
plunged  slide  number  two,  gathering  all  the  snow 
and  stones  along  the  way. 

As  the  slide  came  into  the  bottom  of  the  canon 
it  hit  a  small  ice-bound  lake  that  lay  in  a  rocky 
basin,  smashing  the  ice  and  sweeping  out  most  of 
the  water.  The  farther  canon  wall  was  deluged 
with  water  which  promptly  froze  in  a  rough  ice 
sheet.     The  slide,  however,  continued  on  its  way. 

Just  beyond  the  lake  it  rammed  the  canon  wall 
at  an  angle.  Apparently  it  was  thrown  off  to  the 
right  and  turned  upside  down.  Ice  cakes  and 
stones  were  scattered  and  piled  in  the  bottom  of 
the  canon.  Torn  and  splashed  places  in  the  snow 
far  up  on  the  canon  walls  showed  where  flying 
stones  had  struck.  The  slide  rushed  on  down  the 
gorge  and  after  a  run  of  nearly  a  mile  its  terrific 
momentum  caused  it  to  jump  completely  out  of  the 
gorge  on  the  outside  of  a  curve  at  a  point  where 
the  wall  was  low.  This  ended  its  career.  A  high 
and  long-enduring  dust  column  ascended  from  the 
place  where  it  landed. 

Gravity  is  the  pull  that  moves  snow  as  well  as 


THE  WHITE  CYCLONE  119 

water.  Slides  need  a  slope  for  their  coasting.  On 
a  steep,  smooth  slope  a  comparatively  small  ac- 
cumulation or  weight  of  snow  will  slide  off.  But 
if  the  slope  is  somewhat  flattened  or  extremely 
rough  an  enormous  quantity  may  be  required  for  the 
starting,  or  if  the  weather  be  warm  when  the  first 
autumn  snow  falls  it  may  partly  melt  and  freeze  fast. 
This  icy  cement  will  probably  endure  until  spring. 

Most  slides  follow  the  channels  of  water  courses. 
Slides  may  be  ordinarily  divided  into  storm,  an- 
nual, and  century.  A  storm  slide  may  run  during 
or  shortly  after  the  snowstorm.  The  annual  slide 
for  the  spring  will  carry  most  of  the  winter's  ac- 
cumulation of  snow;  the  century,  the  accumula- 
tion of  scores  of  winters.  The  century  snowslide 
often  does  much  damage  by  smashing  its  way  down 
through  forests,  making  as  it  were  a  right-of-way 
of  its  own.  A  storm  slide,  too,  may  be  a  danger- 
ous and  damaging  one.  If  there  is  an  unusual  fall 
of  snow  from  an  uncommon  quarter,  or  if  this  snow 
is  drifted  in  an  unusual  place,  it,  like  the  century 
slide,  will  smash  down  over  a  new  track  and  leave 
a  line  of  wreckage  behind  it. 

The  third  slide  was  also  started  by  the  first  slide 
striking  a  mass  of  snow  and  stones  in  the  upper 
end  of  a  shallow  ravine.  For  more  than  a  mile 
this  third  slide  ran  on  a  course  parallel  with  that  of 
the  first  in  a  weirdly  spectacular  race.  Then  slide 
number  three  swerved  and  followed  a  crescent- 
shaped  course  to  the  right.     A  succession  of  short- 


120    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

lived  snow  clouds  were  thrown  explosively  off  as 
it  struck  obstructions. 

I  caught  sight  of  this  slide  just  as  a  flock  of 
Bighorn  sheep  rushed  out  of  the  snow  dust  on  one 
side,  like  frightened  people  almost  struck  by  a  fly- 
ing express.  It  is  probable  that  one  or  two  of  the 
sheep  were  caught  and  carried  down  by  the  slide. 
As  the  dust  cleared,  tv/o  injured  sheep  were  seen 
limping  along  far  behind  the  others.  Another 
flock,  alarmed  by  the  chaotic  echoings,  rushed  upon 
a  cliff.  There,  in  tense  and  splendid  poses,  singly 
and  in  groups,  they  watched  the  rushing  slide. 

This  slide  ran  two  miles,  descending  about 
fifteen  hundred  feet.  Most  of  its  descent  was  in 
the  first  half  mile,  and  on  the  last  part  of  its  run  it 
moved  slowly. 

At  timberline  it  plunged  headlong  over  a  preci- 
pice, a  leap  of  about  four  hundred  feet,  landing 
upon  a  steep  and  heavily  forested  slope.  Several 
thousand  trees  were  overthrown  and  smashed  to 
splinters.  The  striking  power  of  this  mass  of  snow 
and  stones  cannot  be  computed.  The  slide  prob- 
ably weighed  about  two  hundred  thousand  tons. 
On  striking,  the  flying  mass  was  thrown  forward. 
Stones  had  bounded  in  all  directions,  cutting  off 
trees  to  right  and  left.  The  forest  within  two 
hundred  feet  from  the  slide's  landing  place  was 
ruined  by  this  short,  terrific  bombardment.  A 
trainload  of  stones  and  many  tons  of  earth  were 
dropped. 


THE  WHITE  CYCLONE  121 

A  part  of  the  slide  mass  ran  on  and  smashed  down 
through  the  forest,  breaking  off  or  tearing  out  by 
the  roots  every  tree  in  its  course.  Its  path  was 
narrow,  about  one  hundred  feet.  But  over  this 
width  it  ran  through  the  forest  for  about  seven 
hundred  feet  with  apparently  unchecked  speed. 
At  the  end  of  this  stretch  it  plunged  into  a  rocky 
canon,  nearly  filling  it  with  spruce  pulp,  splinters, 
cordwood,  earthy,  convulsed  snow,  and  shattered 
stones. 

There  were  more  than  two  hundred  annual  rings 
in  the  trees  wrecked  here,  showing  that  there  had 
not  been  a  slide  at  this  place  for  two  hundred  years. 

In  looking  over  the  debris  at  the  bottom  of  the 
precipice  I  came  upon  the  body  of  a  grizzly  bear, 
badly  crushed.  Apparently  this  bear  had  been 
torn  from  his  shallow  hibernating  cave  somewhere 
in  the  track  of  the  slide,  probably  a  short  distance 
above  timberline.  Careful  search  failed  to  reveal 
the  body  of  a  sheep;  still  there  may  have  been  a 
number  of  carcasses  beneath  the  smashed  trees 
and  wreckage. 

How  quickly  all  this  had  happened!  I  had 
heard  the  crash,  boom,  and  rumble  and  the  riot  of 
echoes,  and  then  had  seen  a  surprised  snowfield 
suddenly  awakened  and  rushing  forward,  wrapped 
in  excited  snow  dust.  Above  its  resting  place  I 
saw  the  transient,  mile-high  snow-dust  pillar  si- 
lently rise.  The  echoes  ceased,  and  this  dust  monu- 
ment quickly  vanished. 


CHAPTER  IX 

LIGHTNING   AND   THUNDER 

I  TOOK  shelter  from  a  thunder  storm  in  a  pros- 
pector's cabin,  far  up  a  mountain  slope. 
Jerry  Sullivan  and  I  stood  in  the  open  door, 
watching  the  breaking  clouds  over  us  and  the  drift- 
ing clouds  in  the  canons  below,  when  out  of  an  al- 
most clear  sky  came  a  bolt  of  lightning.  It  struck 
an  aged  fir  tree  within  sixty  feet  of  the  cabin  and 
blew  it  as  completely  to  fragments  as  though  dyna- 
mited from  top  to  bottom.  Splinters  and  chunks 
of  wood  were  showered  around  us.  A  shattered 
stump  two  feet  in  diameter  and  not  more  than  a 
foot  high  was  all  that  remained  of  the  eighty-foot 
fir.  Booming  and  broken  echoes  of  the  crash  re- 
sounded among  the  canons. 

To  camouflage  my  feelings,  I  turned  to  Sullivan 
and  in  a  matter-of-fact  manner  asked,  "Why  is  it 
that  lightning  never  strikes  twice  in  the  same 
place?" 

Like  lightning  came  the  reply,  "It  don't  need  to." 
But  lightning  does   strike  twice   and  even   re- 
peatedly in  the  same  place.     Within  one  mile  of 
my  mountain   home  was  a  western   yellow   pine 
that  during  thirty  years  was  struck  fourteen  times. 

122 


LIGHTNING  AND  THUNDER  123 

It  was  rapped  three  times  in  a  single  season  and 
twice  during  one  storm.  And  it  is  likely  that  it 
was  hit  a  number  of  times  during  its  earlier  years. 
A  scar  nearly  a  century  old  just  above  the  roots  of 
the  tree  showed  that  one  lightning  stroke  had  burst 
out  a  chunk  of  wood  several  feet  long.  None  of 
these  strokes  did  serious  damage.  Many  trees 
appear  to  be  good  conductors  and  rarely  is  one 
killed.  This  pine  when  finally  killed  by  beetles 
was  probably  more  than  three  hundred  years  old. 
Another  pine,  less  than  twenty-five  feet  from  this 
one  and  nearly  as  large,  was  struck  three  times 
while  its  neighbour  received  fourteen  strokes. 

I  have  dissected  trees  in  various  parts  of  the 
country  and  occasionally  found  one  which  bore  un- 
mistakable evidences  of  having  been  struck  a  num- 
ber of  times.  John  Muir  told  me  that  the  head 
of  a  sequoia  tree  is  sometimes  struck  repeatedly. 
He  had  seen  living  trees  struck  and  [had  examined 
the  lightning-scarred  tops  of  fallen  dead  ones. 

It  is  a  common  belief  that  lightning  does  not 
strike  twice  in  the  same  place,  but  a  coloured  man 
was  convinced  by  appearances. 

"  Dat  tree  has  been  struck  three  times  by  light- 
ning boss,,,  said  Sam. 

"  Impossible,  Sam.  Lightning  never  strikes  twice 
in  the  same  place,  you  know." 

"Well,  say,  boss,  the  thing  what  struck  it  yester- 
day bears  a  strikin'  'semblance  to  what  struck  it 
before.,, 


i24    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

On  scores  of  occasions  during  my  years  of  camp- 
ing over  North  America  lightning  appeared  to  see 
how  close  to  me  it  could  strike  without  hitting  me. 
I  once  held  the  common  and  preconceived  notion 
that  there  were  some  species  of  trees  that  lightning 
was  pretty  certain  to  strike,  and  other  species 
which  it  never  struck.  But  lightning  more  than  any 
other  natural  agency  that  I  know  has  a  speedy  and 
one  hundred  per  cent  efficient  way  of  eradicating 
superstitions  concerning  itself.  The  only  thing 
certain  about  lightning  is  that  there  is  nothing 
certain  about  it.  It  cannot  be  anticipated.  It 
never  encourages  one  to  predict  where  it  will  strike 
next.  Its  strategy  is  of  a  spectacular  order  and  its 
attacks  are  ever  a  successful  surprise. 

Lightning  strikes  every  known  species  of  tree. 
It  not  only  strikes  trees  that  stand  on  summits  but 
it  comes  down  to  those  that  lead  lowly  lives  in 
canons.  There  are  conditions,  however,  which 
cause  a  tree  to  be  frequently  struck.  A  tall  tree 
of  any  species  is  more  likely  to  be  rapped  on  the 
head  than  its  contemporary  of  conventional  height; 
a  tree  on  a  hill-top,  being  closer  to  the  electrical 
field,  is  more  likely  to  be  struck  than  the  tree  in  a 
ravine;  a  lone  tree  much  more  likely  than  one  in  a 
grove;  in  fact,  the  tree  in  a  position  to  intercept 
most  electrical  discharges  and  to  offer  these  dis- 
charges the  best  local  conductor  into  the  earth  is 
the  one  most  likely  to  be  struck. 

In  this  connection  it  is  said  that  trees  rich  in 


LIGHTNING  AND  THUNDER  125 

starch  are  much  more  frequently  struck  than  those 
rich  in  rosin;  that  is,  an  elm  or  poplar  is  more  likely 
to  be  hit  than  a  pine  or  a  spruce.  But  often  it  ap- 
pears to  be  the  tree  with  good  current  transmission 
that  is  struck.  Trees  deeply  rooted  are  more  fre- 
quently struck  than  shallow-rooted  ones.  If  a 
tree  is  shallow-rooted,  or  is  rooted  among  dry  rocks, 
it  is  something  of  an  insulator,  or  poor  conductor. 
There  is  little  likelihood  of  its  being  used  by  a 
lightning  bolt  in  reaching  the  earth.  A  green  tree 
rooted  in  a  moist  place  or  among  mineralized  rocks 
is  an  excellent  conductor  and  offers  shelter  of  first 
rank  for  those  of  the  suicide  club.  The  old  pine 
struck  fourteen  times  was  rooted  in  an  outcrop 
of  iron  ore  and  a  number  of  its  roots  penetrated 
the  moist  soil  to  a  near-by  brook. 

Years  ago,  while  making  a  nature  address,  I  was 
asked  the  question:  "Does  lightning  ever  strike  a 
mulberry  tree?"  I  did  not  know,  and  answered 
another  question  which  was  asked  at  the  same 
instant,  ignored  the  mulberry  tree,  and  went  on 
talking.  At  the  next  pause,  however,  the  lady  re- 
peated her  question  in  these  words:  "If  I  take  ref- 
uge beneath  a  mulberry  tree  during  a  thunder 
storm  will  I  be  safe?"  Being  young,  wise,  and 
impertinent,  I  could  not  miss  the  opportunity  to 
say:  "Madam,  it  all  depends  upon  the  kind  of  life 
you're  leading." 

Many  believe  that  it  is  most  dangerous  to  take 
refuge  beneath  a  tree  during  a  storm,  especially 


126    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

under  a  conspicuously  placed  tree,  but  as  a  matter 
of  fact  the  majority  of  people  struck  by  lightning 
are  struck  in  the  open  fields.  But  this  risk  is  ab- 
surdly small.  Other  risks,  not  lightning,  seriously 
concern  life  insurance  companies. 

There  is  an  old  proverb  which  is  supposed  to 
contain  wisdom  for  those  outdoors  during  a  storm; 
it  says,  "Avoid  the  oak,  flee  from  the  spruce,  seek 
the  beech. "  This  advice  is  obsolete.  The  beech 
receives  proportionally  as  many  raps  as  any  other 
species.  In  the  nature  of  things,  it  should  be  the 
best  conductor  of  the  three  species  named. 

The  incomplete  European  records  concerning 
lightning  show  that  members  of  the  poplar  family, 
aspen,  and  cottonwood,  are  the  species  more  fre- 
quently struck  in  that  part  of  the  world.  It  is  quite 
probable  that  an  investigation  would  show  that 
these  trees  stand  in  the  most  inviting  places  or  in  soil 
that  renders  them  an  easy  or  even  alluring  conduc- 
tor for  lightning  in  its  zigzag  journeys  from  sky  into 
earth.  The  most  frequently  struck  species  of  tree 
in  any  locality  is  probably  the  species  most  numer- 
ous or  in  the  most  exposed  places,  or  a  combination 
of  local  conditions  make  it  the  superior  con- 
ductor. 

In  western  Africa  is  a  species  more  frequently 
struck  than  all  the  other  local  trees.  This  the 
natives  speak  of  as  being  "  hated  by  lightning." 
In  contrast  to  this  expression  is  one  which  I  have 
heard  the  cowboys  use.     In  certain  small  zones  of 


LIGHTNING  AND  THUNDER  127 

Arizona  and  New  Mexico  the  lightning  strikes  with 
remarkable  frequency,  and  the  prevailing  species 
struck  is  "  loved  by  lightning/' 

So  far  as  I  have  noticed,  the  particular  species  of 
tree  most  likely  to  be  badly  smashed  or  blown  to 
pieces  by  lightning  is  the  fir.  I  cannot  account  for 
this,  unless  it  be  due  to  a  peculiar  combination — ■ 
much  moisture,  which  is  a  good  conductor  for 
lightning,  and  much  pitch  and  rosin,  which  are 
supposed  to  be  almost  non-conductors.  At  any 
rate,  I  have  seen  numbers  of  fir  trees  from  forty 
to  one  hundred  feet  high  that  were  cut  down  to  the 
roots  by  a  single  stroke. 

Over  an  extensive  area  on  Mount  Meeker,  Colo- 
rado, balsam  fir  is  the  species  which  shows  the  most 
lightning  wounds,  with  limber  pine  second  in 
numbers.  Yet  the  dominant  species  in  this  zone, 
which  lies  between  the  altitudes  of  nine  thousand 
and  eleven  thousand  feet,  is  the  Engelmann  spruce. 
The  spruce  is  several  times  as  numerous  as  the 
other  two  species  combined,  and  in  most  areas  is 
the  taller.  It  is  possible  that  it  is  struck  with 
equal  frequency  but  rarely  receives  wounds  that 
record  the  experience.  In  the  fir  a  slit  or  burst 
rent  through  the  bark  down  one  side  of  the  tree 
was  the  lightning's  mark.  This  is  the  common 
lightning    sign. 

I  have  always  considered  storms  especially  good 
exhibitions,  and  during  camping  trips  often  sought 
a  commanding  place  to  watch  one.     From  the  rim 


128    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

of  a  canon,  the  top  of  a  towering  cliff,  and  wind- 
swept tree-tops  I  have  watched  rain,  hurrying 
clouds,  and  illuminating  lightning.  These  spectac- 
ular displays,  with  the  rumbling  roar  aroused 
and  repeated  by  the  mountains,  were  among  the 
most  stirring  contributions  to  my  outings.  Each 
experience  was  an  adventure,  and  never  was  a  storm 
in  any  way  dull. 

Sometimes  lightning  is  a  high  explosive.  One 
of  the  many  surprises  which  it  gave  me  hap- 
pened near  my  camp  in  Arizona.  The  bolt  struck 
and  wrecked  the  roots  of  the  tree  like  a  high  ex- 
plosive shell,  but  blowing  the  trunk  and  top  unin- 
jured into  the  air.  Lightning  another  time  struck 
the  side  of  a  tree  like  a  projectile  and  tore  out  a 
chunk  of  wood,  then  completely  wrecked  a  tree  sev- 
eral yards  beyond.  A  lodgepole  pine  about  sixty  feet 
high,  and  without  a  limb  for  forty  feet,  was  struck 
about  twelve  feet  above  the  earth  and  cut  off  as 
though  by  a  shell.  Neither  the  stump  below  nor  the 
trunk  or  top  showed  any  trace  of  the  bolt.  Another 
time  lightning  struck  the  top  of  a  tree  and  ran  down 
the  trunk  into  the  earth  where  it  apparently  came  in 
contact  with  the  roots  of  another  tree  standing 
several  yards  off.  Both  trees  were  blown  into  the 
air,  together  with  the  rocks  in  which  their  roots 
were  entangled. 

Twice  I  have  known  bolts  to  wreck  entire  clumps 
of  trees.  One  of  these  contained  nine  and  the 
other  five  trees.     Another  bolt  near  my  camp  in 


Photo  by  Elizabeth  F.  Burnell 

Enos  A.  Mills  in  a  hli^ard  on  the  summit  of  the  Continental 
Divide.     Altitude  15,200  feet.     February,  igi8 


LIGHTNING  AND  THUNDER  129 

southern  Colorado  blew  all  the  leaves  off  a  Cot- 
tonwood clump  without  other  visible  injury. 

Neither  the  wood  in  lightning-struck  trees  nor 
the  chunks  of  exploded  ones  as  a  rule  show  signs 
of  heat  or  fire  injury.  Limbs  of  a  lightning-struck 
oak  in  southern  Colorado,  however,  were  shattered 
and  frayed  out  so  that  they  appeared  more  like 
shredded  hemp  than  anything  else. 

On  examining  a  tree  that  I  saw  struck,  there  were 
two  parallel  lines  of  rupture  grooves  about  four  in- 
ches apart  down  the  trunk.  Either  the  bolt  had 
divided  before  striking  the  tree,  or  else  two  bolts 
had  struck  the  tree  at  about  the  same  spot  and 
instant. 

Apparently  a  bolt  striking  a  tree-top  follows 
down  the  grain  of  the  wood — follows  even  the 
intensive  twists  of  a  tree  from  the  top,  where  it 
strikes,  to  the  earth.  In  some  trees  this  twist 
of  the  grain  was  so  spiral  that  the  bolt  passed  three 
times  around  the  tree  trunk  in  its  descent  to  the 
earth. 

Usually  the  bolt  plows  a  tiny  U-shaped  groove 
through  the  bark  without  otherwise  injuring  the 
tree.  The  lightning-struck  tree,  unless  shattered 
to  pieces,  usually  survives,  but  the  openings  which 
the  lightning  makes  through  the  bark  allow  the 
entrance  of  insect  enemies  which  frequently  are 
detrimental. 

There  is  not  a  complete  agreement  as  to  just 
what  produces  this  wrecking  explosiveness  of  light- 


i3o  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

ning  strokes.  It  is  generally  believed  that  the 
explosion  is  due  to  the  superheated  steam  in  the 
tree  trunk.  But  in  most  cases  the  injuries  are 
slight  and  the  tree  lives  on. 

I  doubt  if  more  than  one  per  cent  of  the  lightning- 
struck  trees  are  set  on  fire.  Of  course  it  is  the  dead 
tree  that  is  most  inflammable,  but  many  times 
lightning  fires  the  trash  accumulated  against  the 
base  of  a  green  tree.  Lightning  struck  a  green 
spruce  on  a  slope  visible  from  my  camp.  In  a  few 
minutes  a  column  of  smoke  enveloped  the  tree. 
Then  rain  poured  down.  Half  an  hour  later  I 
found  that  a  square  yard  of  trash  and  spruce 
needles  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  had  been  fired  before 
the  rain  drowned  the  fire. 

One  evening  in  the  Mesa  Verde  National  Park 
lightning  struck  a  dead  pine  on  a  canon  rim  op- 
posite where  I  was  camping.  There  was  no  sign 
of  fire  at  the  time.  A  steady  rainfall  continued  for 
three  or  four  hours  after  the  stroke,  but  about  mid- 
night the  tree-top  burned  off  and  fell  with  a  crash. 
I  leaped  up  to  see  sparks  and  chunks  of  fire  bound- 
ing down  the  side  of  the  canon,  while  the  tall  snag 
held  up  a  flaming  torch.  May  it  not  be  that  light- 
ning, by  starting  a  woods  fire,  brought  Fire  to  our 
primitive  ancestors,  if  not  to  all  tribes,  at  least  to 
many  of  them  ? 

The  ancients  are  said  to  have  had  many  excel- 
lent legends  concerning  lightning.  One  of  the 
most  appealing  and  poetic  that  I  hnve  heard  says 


LIGHTNING  AND  THUNDER  131 

that  originally  all  the  river  channels  of  the  earth 
were  ploughed  by  lightning. 

Lightning  is  a  common  accompaniment  of  sum- 
mer rains,  and  repeated  lightning  strokes  may  be 
the  chief  feature  of  a  summer  storm.  Then  again 
there  may  be  a  rain  without  lightning  or  thunder 
being  seen  or  heard.  Lightning  is  occasionally 
noticed  during  early  spring  and  late  autumn,  and 
on  rare  occasions  it  makes  startling  appearances 
during  winter  storms. 

Lightning  seems  to  strike  more  frequently  in  the 
plains  and  valleys  than  in  the  mountains.  Dur- 
ing three  hundred  and  five  climbs  to  the  top  of 
Long's  Peak  I  knew  of  lightning  striking  the  sum- 
mit but  twice.  Both  bolts  struck  in  precisely  the 
same  spot,  and  in  both  cases  the  storm  clouds  were 
high  above  the  summit. 

Most  rain  storms  in  high  mountains  are  on  the 
slopes,  while  the  peaks  and  high  plateaus  tower 
above  in  the  sunshine.  Sometimes  the  summit 
points  are  in  the  midst  of  the  storm,  but  being  in 
and  not  beneath  the  storm,  they  are  therefore  less 
frequently  struck  than  the  slopes  or  the  lowlands. 
There  may  be  exceptions  in  peaks  of  moderate 
height  or  those  highly  mineralized.  But  when 
storms  cover  the  mountains  the  summits  of  peaks 
rarely  are  below — in  range  of — thunder  bolts. 

Peaks  in  the  upper  edge  of  the  storm  cloud  are 
frequently  enveloped  in  what  may  be  called  an 
invisible  zone  of  electricity.     This  may  ziz,   ziz 


132    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

and  crackle  around  rock  points  and  give  a  tingle 
to  the  hair  and  ringer  tips,  but  there  is  no  striking 
in  this  zone.  Here  the  fluid  may  concentrate  and 
descend  upon  lesser  heights. 

Though  these  so-called  electrical  storms  are 
common  on  mountain  peaks,  I  have  not  heard  of 
their  being  fatal  or  even  serious.  But  as  Muir 
says,  they  often  cause  every  hair  on  one's  head  to 
stand  up  like  an  enthusiastic  congregation  and  sing. 

Lightning,  however,  is  said  to  assail  frequently 
the  summit  of  Little  Mount  Ararat,  Asia,  and 
numbers  of  rocks  on  the  top  are  shattered,  bored 
through,  and  in  places  fused  to  glass  by  lightning 
strokes. 

Lightning  sometimes  strikes  a  gravelly  or  sandy 
place  and  may  penetrate  for  twenty  feet  or  more, 
leaving  a  tiny,  ragged-edged  hole  an  inch  or  less 
in  diameter.  Around  the  edge  of  this  the  sand 
and  stone  are  fused  into  glass  or  near  glass.  Some- 
times a  bolt  penetrates  solid  rock  and  makes  a 
glassy  hole;  but  more  often  when  rock  is  struck  the 
bolt  seems  to  explode  as  though  resisted. 

It  was  Benjamin  Franklin  who  first  thought  to 
turn  electrical  energy  into  constructive  work.  And 
also  it  was  he  who  brought  forward  the  lightning-rod 
plan  as  a  means  of  protecting  buildings  from  light- 
ning damage. 

In  May,  1904,  I  happened  to  be  on  Specimen 
Mountain,  about  13,000  feet  above  the  sea,  during 
the  gathering  and  the  continuance  of  a  storm  which 


LIGHTNING  AND  THUNDER  133 

deluged  and  greatly  damaged  the  lowlands  of 
northern  Colorado.  There  were  frequent  lightning 
strokes.  The  air  was  surcharged  with  juice.  This 
twitched  and  contracted  my  muscles  and  pulled 
my  hair  with  an  accompaniment  of  snapping, 
crackling,  buzzing,  and  humming. 

The  following  day,  while  the  storm  was  at  its 
wildest  in  the  lowlands,  I  was  descending  the 
mountains  between  eleven  and  nine  thousand  feet. 
Much  of  the  time  I  was  in  the  broken  storm  cloud, 
and,  as  I  wrote  in  my  notebook,  "For  two  hours 
the  crash  and  roll  of  thunder  was  incessant.  I 
counted  twenty-three  times  that  the  lightning 
struck  rocks,  but  I  did  not  see  it  strike  a  tree." 

Those  who  have  not  been  in  a  violent  thunder 
storm  in  rugged,  high  mountains  perhaps  cannot 
appreciate  the  remark  of  an  old  mountain  guide 
who  said,  "The  best  thunders  are  always  saved 
for  the  mountains."  The  mountain  walls,  cliffs, 
and  long,  receding  slopes  break,  repeat,  prolong, 
and  compound  the  thunders  into  a  deep-toned 
orchestra. 

I  have  heard  of  people  having  their  shoes  burst 
off  by  a  lightning  bolt  without  their  receiving  seri- 
ous injury.  In  Cripple  Creek  I  saw  a  man  at  a 
windlass  in  an  open  space  slightly  injured  by  a 
lightning  bolt  which  burst  shoe-soles  and  uppers 
completely  apart  and  tore  off  most  of  his  clothing. 

A  dry,  dead  tree  or  limb  is  an  extremely  poor 
conductor.     But  during  a  rain  when  covered  with 


i34  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

a  film  of  water  these  are  converted  into  excellent 
conductors. 

Apparently  a  lightning  bolt  will  not  leave  a  good 
conductor  for  a  poor  one.  While  working  in  a 
tunnel  extending  nearly  a  thousand  feet  into  a 
mountainside,  lightning  struck  the  water  pipe 
outside  and  followed  this  into  the  tunnel,  giving 
me  a  shake-up.  All  the  way  through  the  tunnel 
the  pipe  was  in  contact  with  the  dry  rocks.  But 
my  foot  resting  on  the  pipe  was  covered  with  a 
water-soaked    shoe. 

The  records  of  the  Agricultural  Department 
indicate  that  lightning  strikes  far  more  frequently 
through  the  east  than  through  the  west,  Illinois  and 
Florida  being  most  frequently  struck.  Yet  in 
these  states  death  and  damage  from  lightning  are 
almost  negligible. 

It  is  extremely  rare  for  a  big  wild  animal  to  be 
struck  by  lightning.  Yet  the  woods  and  the  moun- 
tains are  peopled  with  moose,  deer,  elk,  bear,  and 
mountain  sheep.  Birds  and  squirrels,  however, 
with  roosts  and  nests  in  the  tree-tops,  and  wood- 
peckers with  homes  in  tree  trunks,  are  occasionally 
killed. 

Once  I  was  out  for  a  few  days  with  a  burro, 
Satan,  who  was  totally  depraved.  He  wanted  to 
leave  undone  everything  that  he  was  asked  to  do. 
In  all  his  dreams  a  self-starter  had  not  occurred 
to  him.  Once  in  motion  he  had  but  one  speed — al- 
ways on  low.    I  found  myself  wondering  if  lightning 


LIGHTNING  AND  THUNDER  135 

had  any  affinity  for  burros.  Satan  was  supposed 
to  be  the  burden  bearer  of  the  expedition.  Yet 
under  a  psychological  test  or  in  the  field  test  his 
usefulness  should  have  been  rated  low  and  I  per- 
sonally told  him  that  he  was  wholly  non-essential 
to  this  so-called  vacation  trip  and  to  the  happiness 
of  the  world  as  well.  A  vigorous  expenditure  of 
energy  and  expletive  did  not  get  us  anywhere. 

One  day  we  turned  into  camp  during  a  downpour 
of  rain.  We  asked  Satan  to  move  a  few  yards 
farther  that  we  might  unpack  under  the  shelter  of 
a  tree.  But  with  feet  outbraced  at  every  corner, 
two  storms  at  once  failed  to  move  him.  He  pre- 
tended to  go  to  sleep  while  we  removed  our  bedding 
in  the  rain. 

Just  as  the  last  of  the  pack  was  removed,  two 
terrific  lightning  bolts  struck  close  by.  These 
resounding  crashes  instantly  put  life  and  fear  into 
Satan.  When  a  smashed  tree-top  fell  near  him 
he  rose  on  his  hind  legs  and  put  his  arms  affection- 
ately around  me,  hitting  me  over  the  eye  with  one 
shod  hoof.  I  tolerated  this  demonstration  simply 
because  except  for  his  firmness  we  would  have 
been  in  the  shelter  of  the  tree  which  the  lightning 
had  hit  on  the  head. 

Once  I  watched  two  black  and  broken  cloud 
strata  that  were  piled  against  the  horizon  with  a 
misty  peak  of  summit  cloud  a  thousand  feet  or 
more  up  in  the  sky.  From  this  cloud  peak  there 
burst  out  together  three  golden   rivers   of  light- 


136  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

ning.  These  separated,  ran  vertically  down  the  sky 
several  thousand  feet,  and  united  in  the  lower  cloud 
stratum.  A  number  of  times  in  the  mountains  I 
have  seen  shafts,  zig-zag  flashes,  and  sinuous  golden 
lightning  burst  out  of  an  absolutely  clear,  blue 
sky  and  descend  to  the  earth.  I  have  also  seen 
trees  struck  by  what  appeared  to  be  a  golden  ball 
of  lightning  which  rolled  in  to  the  tree  horizontally. 
On  one  occasion  a  globe  was  followed  by  a  number 
of  other  golden  globes  which  travelled  slowly  over 
the  same  course. 

Once  near  camp  I  saw  both  golden  globes  and 
golden  rivers  of  lightning  playing  liquid  fire  over 
high  mountains  against  the  clear  stars  of  night. 
These  spectacular  fireworks  were  accompanied 
with  rumbling  and  crashing  as  though  a  violent 
thunder  storm  was  in  progress,  yet  nowhere  in  the 
sky  or  on  the  horizon  was  there  a  cloud  in  sight. 
The  only  possible  explanation  I  could  make  of  this 
exhibition  was  that  beyond  and  below  the  high 
mountain  horizon,  and  not  many  miles  off,  a  storm 
was  in  progress. 


THE  best  thing  in  life  is  sentiment,  and  the  best 
sentiment  is  that  which  is  bom  of  accurate  knowledge. 

Nature  Study  is  seeing  what  one  looks  at  and  draw- 
ing proper  conclusions  from  what  one  sees. 

Happiness  is  nothing  more  or  less  than  pleasant 
and  efficient  thinking. 

The  person  who  actually  knows  the  pussy  willow 
will  know  how  to  become  acquainted  with  the  potato 
bug.     He  will  introduce  himself. 

— Liberty  Hyde  Bailey. 


CHAPTER  X 

LANDMARKS 

LANDMARKS  and  their  surrounding  scenes 
form  pictures  which  every  frontiersman  or 
outdoor  person  learns  to  keep  in  mind.  The 
explorer  and  the  scout  frequently  look  back,  also 
to  the  right  and  to  the  left.  Sometime  the  trail 
may  be  retraced,  the  landmark  may  be  seen  from 
the  opposite  direction,  or  the  trail  may  be  crossed. 
For  the  outdoor  person  to  know  where  he  is,  to 
know  what  lake,  cliff,  meadow,  or  spring  is  to  the 
north,  south,  east,  and  west  of  him  is  the  most  im- 
portant part  of  all  woodcraft. 

This  information  prevents  one  becoming  lost. 
It  enables  the  prospector  to  return  to  the  place 
where  the  rock  outcrop  carrying  gold  was  dis- 
covered. It  is  both  interesting  and  necessary  for 
one  who  enjoys  the  outdoors  to  be  able  to  return 
to  the  lightning-struck  tree,  the  almost  hidden 
beaver  colony,  the  nest  of  the  humming-bird,  and 
to  recall  the  peculiarities  of  a  particular  place  and 
its  distance  from  the  orchid  or  the  bear  sign  which 
he  saw.  Like  a  poet  he  must  be  able  to  give  to 
each  special  thing  a  local  habitation  and  individual 
character. 

159 


i4o  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

But  looking  back  along  the  blazed  trail  of  mem- 
ory are  numerous  adventures  and  incidents  that 
remain  a  part  of  my  mental  possessions  and  stand 
out  as  landmarks  in  my  life. 

I  had  done  much  camping  without  experiencing 
any  serious  difficulty  in  starting  my  camp-fire, 
even  during  the  worst  of  weather.  But  one  winter, 
when  I  was  exploring  the  Medicine  Bow  Moun- 
tains— alone,  as  usual — I  had  a  fire-building  adven- 
ture which  makes  me  shudder  when  I  recall  it. 

On  my  way  across  a  high  pass  I  was  caught  on 
a  steep,  smooth,  icy  slope  in  a  high  wind.  It  was 
too  cold  to  stop,  and  descent  had  to  be  made  with 
utmost  caution  and  freezing  slowness.  Though 
the  wall-like,  sixty-degree  slope  was  constantly 
hugged  closely,  the  wind  a  number  of  times  saw 
how  nearly  possible  it  was  to  wipe  me  off  without 
doing  so.  The  mercury  in  my  pocket  thermome- 
ter barely  showed  above  the  zero  mark,  and  all 
warming  performances — hurrying,  arm  swinging, 
and  dancing — were  impossible  on  the  icy,  wind- 
swept steep. 

I  was  chilled  and  benumbed  almost  beyond 
movement  when  the  slope  commenced  to  flatten 
out  among  the  dwarfed  and  hardy  spruces  on  the 
uppermost  limits  of  tree  growth.  A  quarter  of  a 
mile  down  in  the  woods  was  a  doorless  and  deserted 
cabin  in  which  I  hoped  to  spend  the  night,  but  with 
stiffened  muscles  almost  paralyzed  with  cold  it  re- 
quired long  and  persistent  effort  to  reach  the  place. 


LANDMARKS  i4i 

So  chilled  was  I,  that  my  benumbed  condition 
did  not  shake  off  even  after  much  kicking  and  arm- 
swinging  in  the  cabin.  Some  of  my  muscles  when 
moved  had  a  feeling  akin  to  that  of  "my  foot  is 
asleep." 

After  special  attention  to  my  right  hand  it  re- 
vived sufficiently  to  clasp  the  hatchet  handle,  but 
half  an  hour  must  have  elapsed  after  my  arrival 
at  the  cabin  before  a  few  small  chunks  were  hacked 
from  a  fallen  tree.  With  these  and  pitch  splinters 
from  my  pocket  I  attempted  to  start  a  fire  in  the 
old  fireplace  of  the  cabin. 

One  end  of  each  pitch  splinter  was  hammered 
into  a  brush-like  condition.  But  my  benumbed 
fingers  would  not  hold  a  match.  A  number  of 
matches  were  poured  on  the  floor  and  a  frosted 
thumb  and  finger  tried  in  vain  to  clutch  one.  Ly- 
ing on  the  floor  and  trying  with  both  hands  also 
was  a  failure.  In  desperation  I  tried  to  pick  up 
a  match  between  my  chattering  teeth.  After 
mashing  my  cold,  stiffened  lips,  I  got  the  match 
into  position  at  one  side  of  my  mouth.  The 
match  was  lighted  by  scratching  it  across  a  stone 
with  a  turn  of  my  head.  With  lips  scorching,  I 
rolled  over  and  brought  the  blazing  match  in  con- 
tact with  the  pitch  splinters.  These  instantly  and 
eagerly  blazed  up. 

I  made  special  efforts,  after  this  nip-and-tuck 
experience,  to  learn  the  best  ways  of  fire  starting 
when  both  weather  and  fuel  conditions  were  un- 


i42  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

favourable,  or  when  wit  and  muscle  were  dull  or 
clumsy  from  cold  or  exhaustion.  During  long 
winter  snowshoe  trips  it  was  my  custom  to  have 
three  separate  stocks  of  matches:  a  leather  box, 
a  metal  box,  and  a  package  of  matches  wrapped  in 
oiled,  waterproof  silk  which  was  sewed  into  my 
shirt  pocket.  The  metal  box  was  usually  carried 
in  a  trousers  pocket,  and  the  leather  one,  which 
would  resist  water  for  hours,  in  a  coat  pocket. 
Generally  the  matches  were  the  black-tipped  sul- 
phur ones. 

Men  have  become  so  chilled  and  helpless  that 
they  have  perished  after  reaching  shelter  because 
unable  to  hold  a  match  with  which  to  start  a  fire. 

If  the  fingers  are  too  cold  to  clutch  and  strike  a 
match,  this  may  be  accomplished  by  catching  the 
match  up  in  the  hand  along  with  a  stick  an  inch 
or  less  in  diameter,  or  with  the  hatchet  handle. 
The  match  may  also  be  held  and  struck  by  binding 
it  to  a  stick,  as  though  to  a  splint,  with  a  turn  of  a 
handkerchief,  or  with  two  or  three  turns  of  bark, 
or  a  string.  Or  it  may  be  bound  to  a  finger  or  a 
thumb.  With  fingers  of  both  hands  helpless  the 
match  may  be  held  by  getting  it  between  two  flat 
sticks  which  may  be  held  between  both  hands. 

Starting  a  fire  in  a  pinch  is  what  wins. 

Fate  was  kind  enough  to  cast  me  early  in  life 
where  I  formed  the  acquaintance  of  the  wild  folk. 
Bears,  beavers,  birds,  chipmunks,  and  coyotes 
came  strangely  into  my  youthful  life. 


LANDMARKS  143 

From  the  time  I  realized  that  animals  and  birds 
play  merrily  and  frequently,  wild  life  and  wild 
places  appealed  to  me  with  intensified  interest. 
My  estimate  of  wild  folk  rose  mightily  and  the 
watching  of  wild  life  at  play  has  claimed  a  large 
share  of  my  outings  and  has  given  me  an  interest 
that  never  grows  old. 

The  otter  builds  a  slide  on  which  to  play;  the 
whale  often  plays;  the  solemn  grizzly  bear  plays 
merrily  alone.  Birds  dance  and  play.  Play  ap- 
pears to  be  a  common  and  enlivening  and  bene- 
ficial habit  in  the  entire  world  of  wild  life. 

Chipmunks  were  the  easiest  animals  to  tame. 
Usually  inside  of  an  hour  after  one  appeared  I  was 
able  to  get  near  him  and  often  to  feed  him  from  my 
fingers. 

A  number  of  friendly  chipmunks  were  taking 
peanuts  from  my  hand  as  I  sat  one  day  in  the  door- 
way of  my  cabin.  Occasionally  one  climbed  upon 
my  head.  Suddenly  around  the  corner  of  the 
cabin  came  another  chipmunk  pursued  by  a  weasel. 
The  weasel  stopped  with  a  show  of  anger  at  my 
presence.  The  frightened  chipmunk  fell  exhausted 
in  front  of  us. 

When  this  stranger  commenced  to  revive  he 
showed  astonishment  at  the  intimacy  of  the  other 
chipmunks  and  myself.  Evidently  his  parents 
had  taught  him  that  there  was  no  "safety  first" 
for  chipmunks  but  to  flee  from  man  and  weasels. 
He  looked  at  me  nervously  for  a  few  seconds.     I 


144    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

talked  to  him  but  he  still  appeared  frightened. 
Then  I  took  a  step  toward  him.  He  turned  to 
run,  but  evidently  remembered  the  weasel,  and 
stood  up  to  look  and  listen.  As  there  were  no 
signs  of  his  pursuer  he  turned  for  another  look  at 
the  chipmunks  and  me. 

At  this  instant  a  friendly  beggar  raced  up  and 
took  a  peanut  from  my  fingers.  The  stranger 
could  not  believe  his  eyes;  he  rose  on  tip-toe  to 
watch  us.  He  came  slowly  six  steps  toward  us, 
then  at  once  retreated  four.  But  as  nothing  hap- 
pened he  presently  joined  the  playing  chipmunks. 
One  scolded  and  another  literally  kicked  him 
over,  but  he  hung  near.  I  threw  him  a  peanut. 
He  grabbed  it,  scampered  to  a  near-by  log  and, 
standing  erect,  ate  it.  Then  he  came  close  for 
another.  The  following  day  he  took  a  nut  from 
my  hand. 

The  chipmunks  spent  seven  months  of  each  year 
underground.  The  other  five  months  they  hustled 
about  digging  new  tunnels  for  winter  quarters, 
gathering  winter  food,  sometimes  scolding  the  mag- 
pies, and  once  in  a  while  playing  with  the  rab- 
bits. They  spent  hours  at  a  time  making  these 
tunnel  homes,  piling  the  earth  out  on  the  grass. 
Ofttimes  they  left  their  work  and  came  hurrying 
to  see  me  with  their  faces  very  dirty;  a  chunk  of 
dry  earth  frequently  stood  up  on  the  end  of  a  chip- 
munk's nose.  They  enjoyed  a  dust  bath.  Now 
and  then  a  chipmunk  dusted  himself  so  thoroughly 


/y   ^ 


Photo  bv  Enos  A.  Mills 


Mount  Copeland  and  Copeland  Lake,  Colorado 


LANDMARKS  145 

that  he  appeared  more  like  a  gray  ground  squirrel 
than  a  chipmunk  with  black  and  brown  stripes. 

While  still  a  boy  I  built  a  log  cabin  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains  of  Colorado  and  made  my  home  there. 
For  a  number  of  years  there  was  only  one  other 
cabin  within  miles.  Few  people  came  to  see  me; 
birds  and  animals  were  my  callers,  visitors,  and 
neighbours.  The  region  was  ideal  for  a  wide  range 
of  wild  life.  There  were  scattered  pines  and  aspen 
around  my  cabin  which  stood  in  an  open  valley. 
On  the  mountain  slope  above  grew  a  dense  spruce 
forest.  Below,  a  lively  brook  rushed  through  a 
willow-dotted  meadow.  I  often  saw  deer  that 
came  to  the  brook  to  drink,  and  I  spent  many  hours 
watching  the  activities  of  the  beavers  that  estab- 
lished a  colony  on  the  stream. 

Nearly  all  the  birds  and  smaller  animals  were 
friendly  toward  me  from  the  start;  they  were  just  as 
eager  to  know  me  as  I  was  to  know  them.  I  was 
interested  in  every  living  thing.  I  welcomed  the 
wild  people  large  and  small  and  all  quickly  learned 
that  I  was  not  dangerous  and  that  nothing  around 
my  cabin  was  ever  killed.  In  a  little  while  blue- 
birds, wrens,  chickadees,  camp-birds,  crested 
jays,  robins,  rabbits,  squirrels,  and  chipmunks  not 
only  trusted  me  but  ofttimes  rushed  to  me  for 
safety  when  frightened  and  when  threatened  by 
their  enemies.  They  showed  their  interest  in  this 
place  of  safety,  and  my  cabin  became  the  centre  of  a 
little  wild-life  reservation. 


i46  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

Two  bluebirds  built  beneath  the  end  of  the 
ridgepole  over  the  door  before  the  cabin  was  com- 
pleted. They  were  confiding  from  the  start,  but 
not  until  the  first  eggs  were  hatched  did  they  take 
time  to  call  upon  me.  One  afternoon  Mrs.  Blue 
flew  in  and  circled  the  room  and  as  she  went  out  her 
mate  came  in.  The  next  time  both  came  in  to- 
gether and  curiously  examined  a  number  of  ob- 
jects on  the  table.  After  this  they  often  alighted 
upon  my  shoulders  and  ate  from  my  hands. 

A  wren  often  sang  outside  while  I  stood  within 
reach  and  sometimes,  too,  came  into  the  cabin  for 
something  to  eat,  but  he  never  alighted  upon  me 
nor  ate  from  my  fingers. 

Except  in  summer,  flocks  of  chickadees  came 
every  few  days.  The  first  flock  that  I  welcomed 
looked  at  me  and  called  sweetly  to  one  another.  I 
stood  close  and  talked  to  them,  offering  something 
to  eat,  but  they  went  on  busily  feeding  from  limb 
to  limb.  They  were  sometimes  scattered  over  and 
through  two  near-by  trees  at  once.  But  one  day  a 
flock  stopped  for  a  merry  visit.  Two,  three,  four, 
the  entire  flock,  alighted  on  me,  all  merrily  calling 
"  chick-a-de-de-dee."  Momentarily  chickadees 
took  possession  of  me — head,  arms,  and  shoulders. 
Then  they  flew  forward,  one  or  more  at  a  time, 
constantly  calling  to  one  another  so  that  none 
would  be  left  behind.  These  cheerful  little  people 
always  seemed  happy  in  their  food-hunting  ram- 
bles. 


LANDMARKS  i47 

Within  a  minute  after  the  first  camp-birds 
called  they  were  eating  from  my  hand.  They 
are  a  confiding  bird  wherever  found.  While  they 
were  with  me  they  were  most  gentle,  chatting  in 
low  tones  and  moving  about  deliberately.  But 
they  never  remained  more  than  a  few  minutes. 
They  live  among  dense  evergreen  forests  and  do  not 
seem  to  like  the  open,  but  they  made  me  occasional 
visits  the  year  round. 

The  haughtiest,  lordliest,  and  wisest  bird  visitor 
was  the  long-crested  jay,  with  dark  blue  coat  and 
with  top  of  head  and  crest  jet-black.  They  were 
ever  reserved,  and  though  trusting  me,  never  be- 
came confiding.  They  came  every  day  during  the 
winter  months,  but  in  summer  went  away  to 
Canada  and  Alaska. 

Every  living  thing  responded  in  its  own  way. 
Sometimes  a  bird  came  close  and  by  looks  and  ac- 
tions appeared  to  be  trying  to  speak.  It  required 
a  long  time  and  even  special  efforts  with  a  few 
species  of  birds  and  animals  before  they  understood 
that  it  was  safe  to  be  near  me.  But  once  they  lost 
fear  they  became  curiously,  watchfully  interested 
in  every  move  I  made. 

The  shy,  nervous  rabbits  at  last  made  up  their 
minds  that  I  was  not  ferocious.  Then  they  would 
come  to  feed  in  the  yard  during  the  daytime. 
I  discovered  they  were  out  more  often  during 
cloudy  days  than  during  sunny  ones.  On  a  bright 
day  they  always  sat  or  fed  around  the  edge  of  a 


i48  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

tree  shadow,  never  putting  a  nose  or  an  ear  out 
in  the  sunshine,  unless  hopping  to  another  place  of 
safety.  Evidently  shadows  were  camouflage  against 
hawks  or  other  enemies;  in  shadow  was  "safety 
first."     The  rabbits  were  with  me  the  year  round. 

While  my  pony  was  eating  rock  salt  in  the  mea- 
dow one  autumn  day  a  wild  mountain  sheep — a 
Bighorn — came  up  and  joined  her.  The  sheep 
saw  me  approaching  and  ran  off  while  I  was  still 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  A  few  days  later  he 
came  again  for  salt.  I  had  moved  the  block  of 
salt  nearer  the  cabin.  The  sheep  circled  it  a  few 
times  and  retreated,  but  came  back  that  afternoon. 
The  next  time  he  came  I  stood  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  the  salt.  He  came  almost  to  it,  then 
turned  and  ran  away  at  high  speed.  A  month 
later  he  returned  and  found  the  salt  in  the  same 
place.  I  stood  within  a  stone's  throw.  Carrying 
himself  erect  and  alert,  he  advanced  with  frequent 
stops  to  the  salt  and  licked  it  for  a  minute  or  longer. 
The  following  summer  he  finally  came  to  the  salt 
when  I  sat  near  it. 

Thus  on  the  installment  plan  we  became  ac- 
quainted, or  rather,  salt  and  safety  brought  us  to- 
gether. One  afternoon  he  stood  boldly  looking 
me  over  at  a  distance  of  thirty  feet.  I  embarrassed 
him  by  asking:  "How  is  the  weather  on  the 
heights?"  He  jerked  his  head  up  and  down.  I 
asked:  "Which  crag  did  you  last  climb?"  Then 
he  lost  his  fear  and  was  curious.     One  day,  after 


LANDMARKS  149 

seven  years  of  friendly  advances,  he  came  boldly 
to  my  cabin  and  licked  salt  from  my  hand. 

The  home  of  the  Bighorn  is  among  the  moun- 
tain tops.  This  one  lived  on  a  plateau  that  was 
12,000  feet  above  sea  level.  Here  he  spent  the 
winter  as  well  as  the  summer,  but  now  and  then 
he  made  an  excursion  into  the  lowlands.  I  no- 
ticed that  he  came  down  for  the  earliest  green  grass 
near  my  cabin,  which  was  at  least  three  weeks 
earlier  in  appearing  than  the  green  grass  on  the 
plateau  up  in  the  sky.  Sometimes  he  came  for  salt. 
Generally  he  came  down  for  some  definite  thing, 
but  now  and  then  the  sheep  left  the  heights  with 
no  particular  purpose. 

Occasionally  I  saw  where  a  bear  had  been  am- 
bling along  the  brook,  and  more  often  I  saw  where 
one  had  been  in  a  ravine  only  a  minute's  walk  from 
my  cabin.  Bears  are  big,  shy  people,  but  they 
quickly  learn  of  places  where  they  are  welcome. 
They  are  not  savage  or  ferocious,  but  harmless, 
full-of-fun  fellows,  unless  shot  at  or  chased  with 
dogs,  and  prefer  playing  to  fighting.  Early  morn- 
ings I  often  went  out  hoping  to  find  one.  One  morn- 
ing, while  climbing  a  mountainside  near  my  cabin, 
I  heard  the  breaking  and  tearing  of  rotten  logs 
behind  a  tree  clump,  and  slipped  around  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  whatever  it  was  through  the  spruce 
woods. 

It  was  a  big,  brown  grizzly  bear.  Just  the  tips 
of  his  fur  were  silvery.     He  was  seated  dog-like  by 


i5o    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

a  large,  half-rotten  stump,  eating  ants  and  grubs. 
Every  few  seconds  he  reached  out  with  right  fore 
paw  and  ripped  loose  a  chunk  of  the  stump,  and 
then  licked  it  with  his  tongue.  Three  or  four 
times  he  dug  into  the  torn  stump  with  his  right 
paw  and  picked  up  something  which  he  put  in  his 
mouth.  He  was  an  interesting  sight,  somewhat 
like  a  great  puppy.  His  eating  with  one  paw  and 
being  right-handed  most  impressed  me. 

In  the  midst  of  his  eating  he  scented  me,  stood 
on  his  hind  legs,  looked  calmly  in  my  direction  for 
three  or  four  seconds,  and  then  lumbered  off 
through  the  woods,  stopping  only  once  to  look 
back.  After  a  short  while  I  followed  his  trail. 
Where  he  had  crossed  a  brook  he  left  a  track  in  the 
mud  that  looked  very  much  like  the  track  of  a 
bare-footed  man. 

One  day  I  saw  him  in  a  wild  raspberry  patch, 
biting  off  the  tops  of  the  vines,  and  eating  vines, 
thorns,  leaves,  and  berries.  That  afternoon  I 
saw  him  catching  mice  in  the  edge  of  a  grassy  place 
close  to  a  beaver  pond.  Most  bears  live  upon 
berries,  roots,  grass,  grasshoppers,  mice,  and  other 
small  animals.  Consuming  so  many  pests  and 
dead  animals,  their  food  habits  make  them  useful 
to  man.  Rarely  does  a  bear  kill  a  big  animal, 
wild  or  tame.     They  never  eat  human  flesh. 

I  raised  two  lively  grizzlies.  These  were  caught 
in  the  near-by  woods  when  tiny  cubs,  each  about 
the    size   of  a    rabbit.     They   were    playful    and 


LANDMARKS  151 

friendly;  they  had  merry  times  boxing,  wrestling, 
digging,  and  tumbling  about  in  the  water.  Johnny 
and  Jennie  were  never  cross  and  were  the  most 
wide-awake  youngsters  that  I  have  ever  seen. 

Bears  always  interested  me.  The  grizzly  is  con- 
sidered the  greatest  wild  animal  in  the  world.  He 
has  strength,  speed,  endurance,  and  impressive 
size.  He  attends  to  his  own  affairs.  But  he  is 
curious  concerning  everything  strange  that  he 
sees,  readily  adjusts  himself  to  new  conditions,  and 
is  never  stupid.  Bears  are  threatened  with  ex- 
termination and  need  protection. 

The  wilderness  is  one  of  the  safest  and  the  most 
interesting  places  on  earth.  Early  in  my  life  I 
had  a  camping  trip  with  the  great  John  Muir  in 
the  mountains  of  California.  He  told  me  that 
he  had  tramped  the  mountains  of  the  West  alone 
and  without  a  gun  and  nothing  had  ever  attacked 
him.     Such  has  been  my  experience. 

The  camera  adds  purpose  and  interest  to  an  out- 
ing. It  is  educational  and  develops  the  artistic 
and  the  habit  of  seeing  the  beautiful — of  looking 
for  the  best.  A  cloud-piercing  peak,  wild  moun- 
tain sheep,  beaver  colonies,  a  waterfall  touched 
with  light  and  shadow,  and  many  other  pictures 
are  ever  in  waiting.  These  will  preserve  with 
startling,  delightful  fidelity  the  interesting  expe- 
riences of  the  trip. 

Recently  the  region  in  which  I  enjoyed  wilder- 
ness folk  when  a  boy  became  a  wild-life  reserve- 


i52  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

tion  through  the  making  of  the  Rocky  Mountain 
National  Park.  With  the  increased  numbers  of 
wild-life  reservations  and  national  parks  in  which 
animals  are  never  shot  at,  the  boys  and  girls  of  the 
country  will  have  an  opportunity  to  become  better 
acquainted  with  all  the  wild  animals,  large  and  small; 
to  watch  easily  bears  and  beavers,  birds  and  butter- 
flies. 

These  national  parks  are  also  wild  flower  res- 
ervations. In  them  the  geological  wonders,  the 
forests,  the  wild  bloom,  the  folk  in  fur  and  feathers 
are  protected  for  their  higher  values,  for  uses  in 
education,  for  enjoyment,  for  giving  relaxation 
and  universal  sympathy,  for  inspiring  vision,  and 
for  enriching  the  imagination. 

These  wilderness  places  are  Happy  Hunting 
Grounds  for  all  and  in  them  the  nature  guide  has 
supreme  opportunities  for  useful  and  ennobling 
service. 


EVERY  child  should  have  mud  pies,  grasshoppers, 
waterbugs,  tadpoles,  frogs,  mud-turtles,  elderberries, 
wild  strawberries,  acorns,  chestnuts,  trees  to  climb, 
brooks  to  wade  in,  water-lilies,  woodchucks,  bats,  bees, 
butterflies,  various  animals  to  pet,  hayfields,  pine- 
cones,  rocks  to  roll,  sand,  snakes,  huckleberries,  and 
hornets;  and  any  child  who  has  been  deprived  of  these 
has  been  deprived  of  the  best  part  of  his  education. 

— Luther  Burbank. 

WE  read  and  studied  out  of  doors,  preferring  the 
sunlit  woods  to  the  house.  All  my  early  lessons  have 
in  them  the  breath  of  the  woods — the  fine,  resinous 
odour  of  pine  needles  blended  with  the  perfume  of  wild 
grapes.  Seated  in  the  gracious  shade  of  a  wild  tulip 
tree,  I  learned  to  think  that  everything  has  a  lesson  and 
a  suggestion.  .  .  .  Indeed,  everything  that  could 
hum,  or  buzz,  or  sing,  or  bloom,  had  a  part  in 
my  education — noisy-throated  frogs;  katydids  and 
crickets  held  in  my  hand  until,  forgetting  their  em- 
barrassment, they  trilled  their  reedy  note;  little  downy 
chickens  and  wild  flowers;  the  dogwood  blossoms; 
meadoiv-violets  and  budding  fruit  trees.  I  felt  the 
bursting  cotton-bolls  and  fingered  their  soft  fiber  and 
fuzzy  seeds;  I  felt  the  low  soughing  of  the  wind  through 
the  cornstalks;  the  silky  rustling  of  the  long  leaves;  and 
the  indignant  snort  of  my  pony,  as  we  caught  him  in 
the  pasture  and  put  the  bit  in  his  mouth — ah  me!  how 
well  I  remember  the  spicy,  clovery  smell  of  his  breath! 

— Helen  Keller. 


CHAPTER  XI 

CHILDREN    OF   MY   TRAIL    SCHOOL 

ONE  summer  day  nearly  twenty  years  ago  a 
number  of  boys  and  girls  appeared  at  my 
Rocky  Mountain  cabin.  They  wanted  me 
to  go  with  them  to  the  old  beaver  colony.  A  boy 
and  a  girl  started  making  the  request,  but  before 
they  could  finish  every  child  was  asking  me  to  go. 
"It  is  more  than  two  miles,"  I  told  them,  "and  we 
must  walk."  This  but  added  to  their  desire  to  go 
at  once. 

Stepping  softly  and  without  saying  a  word,  we 
slipped  through  the  woods  and  peeped  from  be- 
hind the  last  trees  into  a  grassy  opening  by  the 
beaver  pond,  hoping  for  a  glimpse  of  a  coyote  or  a 
deer.  Then  we  examined  the  stumps  of  aspens 
recently  cut  by  the  beavers.  We  walked  across 
the  dam.  We  made  a  little  raft  of  logs  and  went 
out  to  the  island  house  in  the  pond.  Then  we 
built  tiny  beaver  houses  and  also  dugouts  in  the 
bank.     We  played  we  were  beavers. 

On  the  way  home  we  turned  aside  from  the  trail 
to  investigate  a  delightful  bit  of  forested  wilder- 
ness between  two  brooks.  We  were  explorers  in  a 
new  country.     The  grove  was  dense  and  lull  ot 

155 


i56    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

underbrush.  It  was  voted  to  send  out  a  likely 
boy  and  girl  to  discover  how  many  hundred  miles 
it  was  through  the  forest.  While  waiting  we  de- 
cided to  examine  one  of  the  brooks,  which  someone 
called  the  Amazon  River.  We  found  a  delta  which 
one  boy  insisted  was  the  delta  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Mississippi.  No  one  objected  and  we  had  discus- 
sions concerning  deltas,  large  and  small.  But  the 
vast  wilderness  between  our  two  brooks — which 
contained  really  about  one  acre — was  reported  by 
our  two  scouts  as  altogether  too  large  for  us  ever 
to  explore. 

Someone  then  proposed  we  should  cross  the 
brook  on  a  fallen  log  to  see  who  the  strange  people 
were  in  the  wilderness  on  the  other  side.  The  last 
boy  of  the  party  made  a  long  jump  from  the  end 
of  the  log  and  declared  he  had  jumped  across  a 
nation — that  one  boundary  line  was  the  end  of  the 
log  and  the  other  was  where  he  alighted.  Just 
where  the  remaining  two  lines  should  be  provoked 
a  profound  discussion,  as  boundary  lines  of  nations 
often  do.  It  was  finally  agreed  that  the  other 
lines  should  be  determined  by  one  of  the  girls  tak- 
ing a  hop,  skip,  and  jump. 

We  decided  to  take  a  census  and  at  once  every- 
one began  to  count  the  inhabitants  of  this  nation. 
We  found  a  number  of  bugs,  spiders,  and  beetles; 
then  other  beetles  and  a  few  grasshoppers;  and 
finally  everyone  surrounded  a  swarming  ant  hill, 
trying  to  determine  how  to  make  an  accurate  count 


CHILDREN  OF  MY  TRAIL  SCHOOL         157 

of  this  warlike  and  numerous  tribe.  This  was 
never  settled,  for  suddenly  a  big  grasshopper  with 
black  and  yellow  wings  entered  the  nation  from  the 
outside.  He  alighted  for  only  a  moment  and  then 
flew  away  again.  The  opinion  was  about  equally 
divided  as  to  whether  he  should  be  counted  as  one 
of  the  inhabitants  or  an  invader. 

At  this  stage  someone  broke  the  news  that  it  was 
already  too  late  for  us  to  reach  home  for  lunch.  So 
intense  had  been  the  interest  that  we  had  forgotten 
even  to  keep  track  of  mealtime.  Two  likely  boys 
were  sent  out  to  forage  for  rations,  with  suggestions 
that  they  go  to  the  kitchen  and  procure  supplies 
enough  to  prevent  starvation  among  the  explorers 
until  night,  and  return  by  the  shortest  route. 

While  we  were  eating  merrily  round  a  camp-fire 
by  the  brook  a  wasp  and  a  fly  engaged  in  a  struggle 
on  a  mountainside.  The  top  of  the  mountain  was 
no  higher  than  the  knee  of  the  boy  who  stood  by  it. 
When  this  life-and-death  struggle  ended  by  the 
contestants  falling  over  a  precipice  thousands  of 
feet  below,  everyone  concluded  it  was  time  to  go 
home. 

That  evening  these  excited  and  enthusiastic  boys 
and  girls  related  the  day's  experience  to  any  one 
who  would  listen.  They  had  been  explorers  in  a 
wilderness,  had  camped  by  mighty  rivers,  had 
seen  wild  animals  and  strange  nations.  Their 
imaginations  were  on  fire.  This  world  had  become 
an  inexhaustible  wonderland. 


i58  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

These  children  were  dealing  with  real  things 
through  interest,  and  their  imaginations  blazed 
with  more  keenness  than  it  was  possible  for  the 
powers  of  legends  and  fairy  tales  to  incite.  They 
had  been  to  school,  had  studied,  had  worked, 
had  learned  without  realizing  it.  Their  reports 
amounted  to  enthusiastic  recitations  of  new,  big 
lessons  well  learned.  Best  of  all,  they  were  happy, 
and  were  eager  to  go  on  with  this  schooling — this 
developing.  We  have  continued  these  excursions 
somewhat  irregularly  through  the  years  to  the 
present  time  and  handled  them  with  increasing 
effectiveness. 

While  a  guide  on  Longs  Peak  I  developed  what 
may  be  called  the  poetic  interpretation  of  the 
facts  of  nature.  Scientific  names  in  a  dead 
language  together  with  classifications  that  dulled 
interest  were  ever  received,  as  they  should  have 
been,  with  indifference  and  lack  of  enthusiasm  by 
those  who  did  not  know.  Hence  I  began  to  state 
information  about  most  things  in  the  form  of  its 
manners  and  customs,  its  neighbours  and  its  biog- 
raphy. 

Nature's  storybook  is  everywhere  and  always 
open.  And  I  wish  children  might  have  everywhere 
what  the  children  have  had  here  in  enjoyment, 
educational  foundation,  and  incentive.  What  we 
are  doing  here  may  be  done  elsewhere. 

John  Muir,  in  writing  of  his  boyhood  experiences, 
says:  "The  animals  about  us  were  a  never-ending 


CHILDREN  OF  MY  TRAIL  SCHOOL         159 

source  of  wonder  and  delight.  How  utterly  happy 
it  made  us!  Nature  streaming  into  us,  wooingly 
teaching  her  wonderful,  glowing  lessons  so  unlike 
the  dismal,  grim  ashes  and  cinders  so  long  thrashed 
into  us.  Here,  without  knowing  it,  we  still  were 
in  school;  every  wild  lesson  a  love  lesson,  not 
whipped  but  charmed  into  us." 

Interest  gives  the  ability  and  energy  to  see  ac- 
curately and  the  incentive  to  watch  for  things  that 
may  happen  around  us;  adds  purpose  to  every  out- 
door day.  Such  happy  experiences  based  on  in- 
terest truly  enrich  life.  Agassiz  said  that  his  chief 
claim  to  distinction  was  that  he  had  taught  men  to 
observe.     Interest  is  the  master  teacher. 

The  Robinson  Crusoe  School  was  the  name  some- 
one early  applied  to  us,  but  later  the  name  Trail 
School  was  taken.  This  school — the  great  out- 
doors— is  in  session  whenever  children  wander 
over  the  trail,  free  from  academic  chaperonage. 
The  trail  supplies  materials  and  equipment,  and 
Mother  Nature  is  an  endless  mental  stimulus. 

We  are  in  a  high  mountain  valley,  in  one  corner 
of  the  Rocky  Mountain  National  Park,  at  an  alti- 
tude of  nine  thousand  feet.  The  locality  is  rich  in 
natural  history.  Within  three  miles  of  us  there  are 
hundreds  of  varieties  of  flowers;  dozens  of  kinds 
of  birds;  a  number  of  wild  animals,  including  bea- 
vers and  bears;  forests  of  pine,  fir,  spruce,  and 
aspen;  steep  mountains;  likely  streams,  and  a  num- 
ber of  kinds  of  rocks. 


160  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

The  Trail  School  is  little  more  than  a  name,  plus 
results.  There  is  no  organization,  no  staff;  no 
opening,  no  closing.  It  has  no  courses  of  study, 
no  set  times  for  study,  no  set  tasks,  no  grade  cards. 
The  children  follow  any  interest  that  appeals,  and 
when  it  appeals.  They  are  never  asked  to  pursue 
anything  distasteful,  in  fact,  any  given  subject 
or  for  any  given  period.  There  are  no  recitations 
and  no  examinations.  Competition,  as  ordinarily 
known,  does  not  exist.  There  are  no  prizes  for 
excellence,  no  honours  for  advancement. 

Each  child  is  too  busy  acquiring  additional  facts 
to  concern  himself  about  having  more  or  less  than 
his  companions.  He  is  not  studying  for  a  prepara- 
tory school  or  for  college.  We  strive  to  see  to  it 
that  these  children  continually  use  their  faculties, 
honouring  facts  rather  than  authority.  Books  we 
highly  prize,  but  their  place  is  made  wholly  second- 
ary and  incidental. 

Information  given  the  children  is  tied  up  with 
life,  connected  with  neighbours,  and  given  a  place 
or  a  part  in  things  going  on.  The  following  will 
show  our  usual  way  of  answering  a  question : 

Walking  along  the  summit  of  a  rocky  ridge,  we 
rounded  a  cliff  and  came  upon  an  aged  and  pic- 
turesque tree.  One  child  asked  what  all  wanted 
to  know,  the  name — what  kind  of  tree  it  was. 
We  speculated  concerning  the  life  of  this  old  tree; 
wondered  concerning  storms  that  had  struck  it. 
We  noticed  that  its  arms  were  long — so  long  that 


:\  i 


I 


CHILDREN  OF  MY  TRAIL  SCHOOL         161 

the  tree  was  wider  than  high;  we  measured  its 
height  and  its  diameter;  noted  the  colour  and 
character  of  its  bark.  A  last  year's  cone  on  the 
ground  looked  as  though  varnished;  the  unripe 
ones  on  the  tree  were  grass-green.  Then  we  ex- 
amined the  needles;  they  were  fastened  on  the 
branches  in  little  bundles  of  five.  At  last  we  con- 
cluded that  it  must  be  a  limber  pine. 

"I  remember  reading  about  it  in  John  Muir's 
'The  Mountains  of  California/"  said  one  child. 
"He  often  found  it  growing  on  dry,  rocky,  wind- 
swept ridges." 

When  a  new  boy  or  girl  arrives  he  or  she  is  gen- 
erally full  of  movie  talk  or  train  experience,  or 
eager  to  find  out  concerning  riding,  fishing,  or 
other  long-treasured  plans.  But  these  outing  chil- 
dren talk.  Presto!  Change!  The  new  arrival 
edges  toward  mother  and  begs  to  join  the  young 
explorers  next  day. 

We  ask  the  children  not  to  discuss  either  per- 
sonalities or  the  movies.  One  evening  a  number 
of  boys  were  about  to  leave  with  sleeping  bags  to 
camp  for  the  night  in  a  beaver  colony,  when  a  new 
boy,  fresh  from  the  city  and  the  movies,  came 
along.  He  joined  them.  He  talked  incessantly 
concerning  the  movies.  As  soon  as  sleeping  bags 
were  piled  and  before  wood  was  gathered  for  a 
camp-fire  two  of  the  boys  led  the  movie  one  off 
behind  a  clump  of  fir  trees  and  demanded  from 
him  whether  he  would  stop  movie  talk  or  if  he 


162    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

would  make  it  necessary  for  them  to  beat  him  up. 
It  squelched  him.  Nevertheless,  during  this  trip 
he  picked  up  a  new  interest. 

We  have  yet  to  find  a  lazy  child.  Minds  and 
muscles  move  willingly.  Again  and  again  we  have 
been  assured  that  this  or  that  child  could  not  or 
would  not  learn.  But  under  Trail  School  environ- 
ment he  formed  new  habits.  Under  the  zest  and 
spell  of  interest  he  joyfully  and  tellingly  applied 
himself.  These  children  are  one  hundred  per  cent 
concentrated.  They  have  the  burning  morale 
of  interested  youth.  They  are  doing  things.  They 
want  to  do  still  other  things.  They  want  to  learn. 
Many  of  their  activities  would  be  classed  as  work — 
except  by  themselves. 

To  help  complete  a  flower  exhibition  two  girls 
and  two  boys  voluntarily  climbed  nearly  twenty- 
five  hundred  feet  up  the  mountainside.  When 
they  had  gathered  the  desired  plants  they  made  a 
side  trip  for  another  rare  flower.  Two  of  these 
children  were  considered  dull  and  lazy;  yet  how 
energetic  and  concentrated  they  were — an  excel- 
lent illustration  of  how  interest  and  development 
create  and  administer  discipline! 

The  mountain  trail  is  a  part  of  the  earth's  most 
influential  environment.  It  is  an  avenue  of  in- 
terest. It  mingles  life,  motive,  opportunity,  and 
desire.  Whoever  travels  the  trail  is  enjoying  living 
and  learning;  is  going  somewhere.  In  trail  environ- 
ment Mother  Nature  mingles  facts  and  fun,  and  the 


CHILDREN  OF  MY  TRAIL  SCHOOL         163 

traveller  readjusts  himself  to   its   conditions   and 
develops  along  the  way. 

With  a  party  of  more  than  twenty  we  one  day 
cooked  our  lunch  over  a  camp-fire.  We  used  little 
sticks  for  the  fire  and  kept  it  as  small  as  possible. 
As  Indians  were  supposed  to  be  after  us  we  burned 
every  scrap  of  refuse  and  carefully  covered  the  ashes 
with  a  flat  rock.  Being  clean  is  the  most  concealing 
camouflage  for  a  camp.  When  we  left  it  the  place 
did  not  look  as  though  any  one  had  ever  camped 
there.  Although  we  had  twenty  in  this  party  we 
generally  limited  the  number  to  five  or  six. 

Trailing  appears  to  be  the  supreme  outdoor  ex- 
perience. Sometimes  we  follow  the  track  of  a 
deer  or  a  horse;  at  other  times  one  of  the  party 
travels  for  ten  minutes  from  a  given  point  and  is 
allowed  to  conceal  his  trail  in  every  way  he  can 
think  of.  At  the  word  we  set  off  eagerly  to  follow 
this  concealed  trail.  There  is  concentration,  en- 
thusiasm, and  application.  In  following  a  trail 
of  any  kind  the  girls  frequently  excel  the  boys. 

One  of  our  excursions  was  an  exciting  two-day 
search  for  the  source  of  a  stream.  We  found  it 
above  the  limits  of  tree  growth  in  a  little  pool  at 
the  foot  of  a  cliff.  There  were  mountain  sheep 
tracks  by  it.  On  the  tiny  stream  each  boy  and 
girl  launched  a  boat — the  tiny  leaf  of  an  alpine 
plant — which  was  to  report  promptly,  with  its 
message,  to  some  boy  or  girl  in  New  Orleans. 

We   tried   out   our   noses.     Polemonium,   with 


i64    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

blossoms  of  peculiar  and  pungent  odour,  is  called 
skunkweed.  The  children  were  blindfolded  and 
asked  to  find  an  interesting  flower,  blooming  about 
twenty-five  feet  from  them,  which  was  sending 
wireless  signals  for  the  nose.  Merry  times  they  had 
seeking  for  it.  In  all  succeeding  trips  that  we  made 
there  was  increased  and  enjoyable  use  of  the  sense 
of  smell. 

We  tasted  and  smelled  of  the  bark  and  needles 
of  the  balsam  fir  tree  as  an  important  preliminary 
to  searching  for  it  that  night  with  our  noses.  Any 
one  who  desired  was  allowed  to  supplement  taste 
and  touch  also.  A  little  girl  who  was  the  first  to 
find  it  was  not  certain  until  she  had  touched  the 
tree  to  which  her  nose  led  her. 

One  windy  day  we  were  exploring  a  dense  prime- 
val forest  when  the  sound  of  a  cascading  brook 
reached  our  ears.  We  stopped  to  listen  and  to 
separate  the  flowing  tones  of  the  water  from  simi- 
lar sounds  the  wind  made  in  the  pines.  Then  we 
tried  to  determine  the  direction  to  the  brook,  and 
also  the  distance,  by  the  sounds  of  the  water. 

In  a  comparatively  open  level  place  we  walked 
round  and  noted  the  boulders  and  the  trees.  One 
at  a  time  was  then  blindfolded  and  asked  to  find  a 
particular  tree  or  boulder. 

One  of  the  incidents  I  sometimes  tell  to  heighten 
the  interest  when  we  are  training  our  senses  is  of 
several  blind  men  in  Wheeling,  W.  Va.,  who  walked 
more  than  a  mile  one  winter  night  to  hear  me 


CHILDREN  OF  MY  TRAIL  SCHOOL         165 

lecture.  Another  is  of  a  blind  Indian  in  British 
Columbia  who  took  me  several  miles  up  and  then 
down  a  swift  mountain  stream,  guided  by  touch, 
sound,  and  his  imagination. 

Many  a  time  the  children  and  I  drew  maps  and 
pictures  with  sticks  in  the  sand.  Sometimes  we 
set  down  a  part  of  the  multiplication  table.  On  a 
big  sand  map  we  located  beaver  colonies,  big  trees, 
little  trees,  places  where  we  had  camped,  places 
where  we  had  seen  mountain  sheep,  places  we  had 
explored.  One  of  the  places  the  children  best  re- 
membered was  the  top  of  the  Twin  Peaks,  where  we 
had  lain  down  and  with  magnifying  glasses  care- 
fully looked  at  the  tiny  dwarf  flowers.  Another 
was  that  strange  timberline  of  dwarfed  and  twisted 
trees  on  the  side  of  Long's  Peak.  Still  another  was 
Chasm  Lake,  an  utterly  wild  place,  where  there 
were  ice-piles,  snow-drifts,  flowers,  and  lichened 
rocks;  and  where  a  big,  fat  woodchuck  had  come 
out  to  eat  scraps  of  lunch  from  our  fingers.  On 
the  sand  map  we  also  marked  places  unexplored — 
spots  where  we  hoped  soon  to  go  and  to  make  dis- 
coveries. 

We  try  to  develop  in  the  child  mind  the  spirit  of 
exploration,  so  he  may  enjoy  the  search  for  facts, 
both  in  books  and  in  the  outdoors.  Before  long 
he  eagerly  hunts  through  books  or  appeals  to  in- 
dividuals to  satisfy  some  interest  roused  on  the 
trail.  The  results  have  been  immeasurable  and 
inspiring.     With  eye  and  ear  and  nose  the  children 


166    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

gather  rare  materials — materials  that  arouse  re- 
flection, imagination,  reasoning;  the  brain  is  grow- 
ing. 

A  nature  library  is  kept  convenient  for  the  chil- 
dren and  they  use  it  with  inspiring  enthusiasm.  In 
this  library  are  the  best  works  obtainable  on  nat- 
ural history:  books  concerning  birds,  bears,  beav- 
ers, insects,  wild  flowers,  and  forests,  written  by 
people  with  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  and  an 
enthusiasm  for  their  subjects.  These  are  books 
filled  with  facts.  There  is  not  a  single  reference 
to  fairies  who  rewarded  good  children;  bears  that 
ate  bad  children  are  not  even  mentioned.  There 
are  no  billboards  carrying  morals  in  capital  letters. 
There  are  no  lessons  either  brutally  blunt  or 
with  camouflage  decorations.  There  are  no  text- 
books. 

Someone  once  called  my  attention  to  the  fact 
that  my  nature  library  lacked  the  common  books 
that  were  written  about  nature  for  children.  These 
had  not  been  intentionally  omitted.  I  had  never 
thought  of  them,  nor,  through  the  years,  had  a 
single  child  ever  asked  for  one  of  them.  So  I  be- 
lieve for  most  practical  purposes  they  may  be 
classed  as  non-essentials. 

One  day  while  homeward  bound,  after  two  hours 
with  the  strange  trees  at  timberline,  we  purposely 
came  close  to  a  large  and  nearly  round  boulder. 
All  ran  to  examine  it.  We  called  it  the  Ice  King's 
marble.      Ice  probably  had  taken  it  from  the  top 


CHILDREN  OF  MY  TRAIL  SCHOOL         167 

of  Long's  Peak  and  carried  it  across  a  canon.  While 
the  interest  was  on  this  boulder  the  whole  glacial 
story  was  opened.  From  that  hour  these  children 
had  an  eye  for  glacial  topography  and  a  mind 
for  books  concerning  glaciers. 

The  children  often  wrote  a  delightful  account  of 
an  experience  or  of  their  special  interest.  Such  ac- 
counts were  not  booky,  they  were  spontaneous. 
These  compositions  were  what  we  desired  but  they 
were  not  required  nor  even  lightly  requested. 

Generally  in  the  study  of  zoology  or  botany  the 
student  begins  with  the  far-away,  primitive,  and 
least  interesting  forms  of  life,  and  memorizes.  We 
use  the  bird,  animal,  or  flower  at  hand.  We  learn 
something  of  its  life  history,  of  its  evolution;  of  its 
relation  to  surrounding  plants  and  animals;  of  its 
enemies,  its  travels,  its  food;  and  sometimes  how 
it  has  been  changed  by  environment.  We  learn 
something  of  the  year-round  life  of  mountain  sheep, 
of  beavers  and  other  animals,  and  of  birds.  Their 
popular  names  we  use  as  a  label  or  mark  of  identi- 
fication; but  we  learn  all  we  can  before  becoming 
serious  concerning  the  name.  In  due  time — and 
this  is  by  the  time  scientific  names  and  classifica- 
tions mean  something — the  children  find  both 
interesting. 

Our  method  has  been  efficient,  whether  the  pre- 
scribed one  or  not.  By  it  the  boys  and  girls  have 
laid  the  foundation  for  an  education  and  learned 
many  of  the  facts  and  principles  of  nature.     And, 


1 68    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

what  is  important,  they  have  learned  that  the  out- 
doors is  friendly. 

Most  people  think  that  the  wilderness  is  a  su- 
premely dangerous  place  for  human  beings.  They 
carry  through  life  a  handicap  of  fear  of  the  out- 
doors. These  children  learn  that  the  wilds  are  not 
only  friendly  but  hospitable;  they  find  ferocious 
animals  only  in  storybooks,  and  ere  long  being  out 
after  dark  or  in  the  rain  is  fun. 

A  well-known  educator  recently  emphasized  the 
fact  that  to  have  a  sane  and  healthful  view  of  life 
it  is  necessary  to  have  correct  fundamental  in- 
formation concerning  natural  history;  and  that 
this  knowledge  can  be  acquired  only  by  intimate 
contact  with  nature. 

For  two  or  three  hours  in  a  primeval  forest  we 
played  that  we  were  primitive  people.  The  children 
had  a  glimpse  of  the  childhood  of  our  race;  learned 
something  of  the  diet  of  primitive  people;  why  we 
have  so  many  domesticated  plants.  All  this 
started  over  seeing  mushrooms  and  wondering 
whether  they  were  poisonous. 

When  out  with  nature  the  unexpected  often 
happens.  If  we  come  upon  something  well  worth 
while — like  a  mother  bird  leading  her  young  from 
the  nest,  beavers  at  play,  or  a  near  view  of  moun- 
tain sheep — we  remain  and  make  the  most  of  this 
opportunity. 

Each  new  interest  is  opportunity.  The  interest 
is  sometimes  heightened  by  the  children  abruptly 


CHILDREN  OF  MY  TRAIL  SCHOOL         169 

determining  what  is  next  to  be  seen.  In  the  course 
of  a  month  we  use  telescope,  microscope,  botanies, 
bird  and  animal  books,  and  frequently  call  in 
the  use  of  multiplication  and  percentage.  The 
children  have  many  irons  in  the  fire.  Only  one  is 
hot  at  a  time;  but  how  it  is  then  hammered! 

Any  one  who  goes  with  the  children  is  considered 
by  them  a  welcome  outsider  or  a  privileged  guest, 
honoured  and  consulted,  but  ever  under  their 
orders.  However,  that  they  should  not  come  to 
depend  on  an  older  person  accompanying  them, 
I  sometimes  leave  them  as  we  start  homeward. 
Sometimes  they  vote  to  return  home  under  the 
orders  of  one  of  the  children  as  leader.  But  several 
often  go  off  together,  or  by  twos,  or  even  one  alone. 

Each  child  is  encouraged  to  report  anything  of 
unusual  interest.  If  a  discovery  is  made — a  crippled 
animal  or  a  rare  flower — he  is  to  return  at  once  and 
tell  others  about  it.  Sometimes  scouts  are  sent 
out  to  look  for  young  beavers,  bear  signs,  or  to  see 
whether  the  first  blue  fringed  gentians  have 
bloomed. 

There  is  a  bulletin  board  in  the  nature  room  on 
which  appear  notices  of  future  excursions,  of  discov- 
eries, of  special  meetings,  of  exhibitions,  of  flowers, 
rocks,  and  other  things  wanted  for  these  exhibitions, 
and  recent  outdoor  photographs.  When  the  chil- 
dren are  not  in  the  field  a  conference  may  be  called 
at  any  time. 

It  was  a  stay-at-home  day  the  morning  a  boy 


i7o    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

came  rushing  in  to  report  that  a  side  of  a  canon  had 
fallen  in.  Children  hurried  right  and  left  to  tell 
others,  and  in  a  few  minutes  all  were  off  to  see  the 
landslide.  They  forgot  to  take  lunch  along. 
Eagerly  they  discussed  the  probable  causes  of  this 
slide  and  also  the  results  from  it.  It  dammed  the 
gulch  and  was  already  forming  a  pond.  How  long, 
we  wondered,  before  water-loving  plants  and  ani- 
mals would  come  to  live  here. 

This  gave  an  excellent  opportunity  to  discuss  the 
supreme  productive  resource — soil.  Other  resources 
had  their  innings — water,  forests,  birds;  and  so, 
too,  did  erosion,  topography,  and  streams.  I  had 
to  tell  of  landslides  I  had  seen  and  where  the  best 
accounts  of  big  landslides  might  be  read. 

We  were  returning  from  a  day's  outing  when  we 
came  upon  an  unextinguished  camp-fire.  "Here 
is  a  mighty  forest  fire!"  I  said.  "How  many 
will  volunteer  to  fight  it  to  a  finish?"  Instantly 
everyone  volunteered.  A  boy  was  sent  for  help,  a 
girl  was  sent  for  a  pail  of  water.  We  fought  and 
won.     That  night  we  read  up  on  fire  fighting. 

We  often  walked  home  through  the  rain;  during 
several  downpours  we  deliberately  went  out  into 
the  storm.  On  a  few  gray  days  we  climbed  up  the 
mountainside  through  a  solid  sky  of  clouds  until 
we  were  above  them  in  the  sunshine.  We  also 
made  little  journeys  after  dark,  visiting  pine 
woods,  beaver  colonies,  and  streams;  calling  on 
hundreds    of   sleepy   flowers;    watching    shadowy 


CHILDREN  OF  MY  TRAIL  SCHOOL         171 

coyotes  and  owls  and  listening  to  their  playful  cries 
and  calls. 

The  unfortunate  attitude  of  the  parent  was  an 
obstacle  to  every  outing.  Many  were  thrown  al- 
most into  a  panic  when  a  trip  for  their  children  was 
proposed,  and  too  often  came  out  of  the  panic  to 
condemn  such  excursions  with  all  the  vehemence 
of  old  error.  Each  new  parent  on  the  scene  exhib- 
ited a  misunderstanding  of  the  outdoors. 

We  never  had  a  serious  accident,  never  were  at- 
tacked by  bears  or  any  other  wild  animal,  and 
never  did  a  child  even  catch  cold.  These  facts, 
together  with  the  enthusiasm  of  the  children  for 
such  outings  and  their  obvious  development,  won 
out. 

We  discouraged  the  collecting  of  specimens,  but 
we  encouraged  the  bringing  in  of  a  mental  record — 
an  account  of  the  day's  experience.  From  now  on 
we  shall  provide  a  book  and  encourage  each  child 
to  write  down  the  most  important  experience  of 
the  day  as  a  part  of  the  outing  round.  I  should 
have  done  this  long  ago.  I  have  lost  many  happy 
accounts. 

A  few  unusual  specimens  collected  by  the  chil- 
dren have  been  preserved  for  their  natural  history 
association  and  their  nature  room.  In  this  room 
they  hold  meetings.  If  a  child  comes  upon  some- 
thing deemed  rare,  something  that  will  be  of  gen- 
eral interest,  he  is  encouraged  to  bring  it  in  for  the 
nature  room.  One  afternoon  the  association  unani- 


i72  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

mously  decided  to  bring  in  a  tree  with  an  unusual 
history.  All  the  children  went  along  and  its  getting 
filled  half  a  day  for  them  full  of  thought  and  action. 

This  young  pine,  when  twenty-one  years  of  age, 
was  knocked  down  by  a  fire-killed  tree  falling  upon 
it.  The  top  straightened  up  and  made  a  loop  al- 
most around  the  dead  tree  that  rested  upon  and  dis- 
torted it.  We  learned  the  young  pine's  age  from 
the  annual  growth  rings  in  the  stump,  and  also 
how  many  years  it  had  lived  before  being  injured 
and  how  many  since. 

Occasionally  the  children  give  an  exhibition  and 
invite  the  older  people  to  see  it.  They  plan  these 
exhibitions  and  gather  and  arrange  materials  for 
them.  While  a  rock  exhibition  was  on  we  discussed 
geology,  rock  formations  and  transformations, 
volcanoes,  earthquakes,  erosion,  rock  strata  and 
colour.  During  a  flower  exhibition  we  discussed 
the  evolution  of  plants,  pollination,  interdepen- 
dence with  insects,  and  seed  distribution. 

Often  I  am  too  busy,  or  there  are  too  many  boys 
and  girls,  or  it  seems  best  to  have  someone  else  ac- 
company a  party  afield.  But  to  find  individuals 
who  will  do  this  without  becoming  teachy  or 
preachy  and  deadly  to  the  children  is  most  difficult. 
Most  teachers,  some  parents,  and  many  others 
want  us  to  ignore  interest  and  desire  and  force  the 
children  to  memorize  something  which  they  con- 
sider worth  while. 

One   day  a  well-known   school   superintendent 


CHILDREN  OF  MY  TRAIL  SCHOOL         173 

offered  to  help  us.  He  unfolded  his  plans  in  the 
presence  of  a  number  of  the  children.  I  wish  you 
could  have  seen  the  effect  of  his  words  upon  them! 
When  he  proposed  classes  and  study,  system  and 
grading  and  examinations,  each  child  heard  the 
suggestions  just  as  he  would  hear  the  threat  of  a 
probable  whipping. 

The  academic  mind — and  in  many  respects  the 
old  puritanical  mind — holds  that  things  pleasurable 
and  interesting  are  to  be  shunned;  that  they  are 
akin  to  vice;  that  it  is  virtuous  to  do  the  disagree- 
able things,  and  all-important  to  force  yourself  to 
do  what  you  do  not  like. 

But  in  human  psychology  it  is  ever  important  to 
get  results  while  working  under  morale,  using  all 
the  power  that  interest  adds.  Thus  finally  you 
accomplish  the  most  difficult  and  greatest  results 
through  the  supreme,  sustained  efforts  that  desire 
and  interest  make  possible.  Natural  phenomena 
interest  and  stimulate  the  mind  in  a  thousand  ways. 

We  had  a  variety  of  kinds  of  excellent  discipline. 
I  sometimes  think  that  discipline  as  it  is  applied 
in  the  school  world  actually  dwarfs  the  senses  and 
robs  life  of  its  interest.  Mathematics,  dead  lan- 
guages when  not  liked,  drudgery,  and  disagreeable 
tasks  usually  dull  those  upon  whom  they  are  in- 
flicted and  develop  half-hearted  habits. 

The  psychology  of  youth  calls  for  discipline  of  a 
different  character.  This  is  pleasurable  discipline. 
These  children  frequently  and  cheerfully  labour 


i74    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

under  severe,  self-imposed  discipline,  and  under 
this  all  their  faculties  are  at  their  best.  Fortunate 
is  the  child  whose  discipline  is  determined  by  its 
own  inspiration.  Interest  makes  play  of  the  hard- 
est work. 

We  sat  for  more  than  two  hours  upon  a  log  by  a 
beaver  pond.  When  we  had  at  last  satisfied  our- 
selves that  muskrats — the  little  brothers  of  the 
beaver — were  living  in  an  abandoned  beaver  house, 
we  started  on  and  then  questions  and  comments 
came  thick  and  fast. 

Sometimes  we  would  count  all  the  flowers  that 
grew  in  a  circle  the  diameter  of  which  corresponded 
to  the  height  of  the  shortest  child  in  the  party. 
Sometimes  we  counted  all  the  trees  in  a  given 
square. 

Every  normal  child  is  as  avaricious  for  informa- 
tion as  a  miser  is  for  gold.  This  childish  desire  to 
know,  to  learn,  will  assure  mental  development  if 
information  be  given  in  a  way  that  appeals.  Chil- 
dren can  learn  but  little  from  cold,  unrelated, 
segregated  facts;  from  academic  system  and  memo- 
rized rules.  Hence,  before  the  young  are  assigned 
to  learn  the  definite  cut-and-dried  facts  their  elders 
deem  essential,  they  need  the  development  that 
roused  interest  gives. 

We  try  to  use  to  the  utmost  the  interest  of  the 
child.  Interest  a  child  and  he  thinks.  While  a  child 
is  thinking  he  is  learning.  One  interest  invariably 
leads  to  a  larger  and  then  to  other  interests. 


CHILDREN  OF  MY  TRAIL  SCHOOL         175 

Of  an  evening  I  listen  willingly  to  their  ideas 
and  comments,  and  to  their  experiences.  I  en- 
deavour to  make  comments  that  will  cause  the  child 
to  desire  to  go  back  and  look  again  at  the  wonder 
things  he  has  seen  and  at  others  which  he  appar- 
ently missed.  I  do  all  I  can  to  stimulate  his 
creative  faculty.  I  ever  try  to  answer  his  ques- 
tions in  a  way  that  will  add  to  his  interest  and,  if 
possible,  multiply  or  extend  this  interest. 

If  a  child's  lesser  questions  are  answered  he  will 
presently  come  back  with  greater  ones.  Surely, 
the  opportunity  of  one's  life  is  to  listen  helpfully 
when  the  child  is  talking  and  to  answer  happily  his 
eager  questions! 

The  experiences  these  children  have  and  their 
reflections  concerning  the  things  seen  give  them 
the  ability  to  reason,  and  develop  their  observation 
and  imagination.  With  these  powers  working, 
there  is  nothing  that  can  obstruct  a  child's  way  to 
an  education.  He  wants  to  learn  and  will  find  a 
way. 

Sometimes  in  telling  their  experiences  the  children 
let  themselves  go  and  use  their  imagination  freely. 
This  is  excellent.  It  is  a  healthy  imagination; 
they  simply  expand,  extend,  or  create  the  probable 
continuation  of  facts  they  have  seen.  There  is 
nothing  magical,  nothing  illogical,  no  monstros- 
ity— just  poetical  interpretation  of  facts.  But 
when  asked  for  the  facts  about  what  they  have 
seen  they  give  them  accurately — the  colour,  size, 


i76  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

and  the  neighbouring  objects.     They  have  really 
observed. 

The  average  person  does  well  to  see  with  fifty 
per  cent  efficiency.  I  have  talked  separately  with 
three  or  four  children  concerning  the  same  experi- 
ence, and  their  accounts  agreed;  they  must  have  run 
above  ninety  per  cent  in  accurate  observation. 

President  Charles  W.  Eliot  came  out  with  the 
following  sweeping  statement  in  a  recent  publica- 
tion by  the  United  States  Bureau  of  Education, 
called  Certain  Defects  in  American  Education  and 
the  Remedies  for  them: 

"  It  is  the  men  who  have  learned — probably  out 
of  school — to  see  and  hear  correctly  and  to  reason 
cautiously  from  facts  observed,  who  carry  on  the 
great  industries  of  the  country  and  make  possible 
great  transportation  systems  and  international 
commerce." 

Doctor  Eliot  goes  on  to  say: 

"  Since  the  United  States  went  to  war  with  Ger- 
many there  has  been  an  extraordinary  exhibition 
of  the  incapacity  of  the  American  people,  as  a 
whole,  to  judge  evidence,  to  determine  facts,  and 
even  to  discriminate  between  facts  and  fancies. 
This  incapacity  appears  in  the  public  press;  in  the 
prophecies  of  prominent  administrative  officials, 
both  state  and  national;  in  the  exhortations  of  the 
numerous  commissions  which  are  undertaking  to 
guide  American  business  and  philanthropy;  and  in 
the  almost  universal  acceptance  by  the  people  at 


CHILDREN  OF  MY  TRAIL  SCHOOL         177 

large,  day  by  day,  of  statements  which  have  no 
foundation  and  of  arguments  the  premises  of  which 
are  not  facts  or  events,  but  only  hopes  and  guesses. 
"In  most  American  schools  there  has  been  a 
lack  of  systematic  training  of  the  senses  .  .  . 
to  record,  remember,  and  describe  accurately  ob- 
servations made  by  his  own  senses.  Little  system- 
atic training  has  been  given  day  by  day  in  the 
processes  of  determining  facts  and  weighing  evi- 
dence. .  .  .  Worst  of  all,  most  American 
schools  have  neglected  to  enlist  and  cultivate  as- 
siduously the  interest  of  each  pupil  in  his  daily 
work,  in  spite  of  the  obvious  fact  that  no  human 
being — child,  adolescent,  or  adult — can  do  his  best 
work  unless  he  is  taking  an  interest  in  that  work. 

"Remedies  are  the  substitution  of  teaching  by 
observation  and  experiment  for  much  of  the  book 
work  now  almost  exclusively  relied  on;  the  cultiva- 
tion in  the  pupils  of  activity  of  body  and  mind 
during  all  school  time — an  activity  which  finds 
delight  in  the  exercise  of  the  senses  and  of  the 
powers  of  expression  in  speech  and  writing;  the 
insistence  on  the  acquisition  of  personal  skill  of 
some  sort;  the  stimulation  in  every  pupil  of  interest 
in  his  work  by  making  the  object  of  it  intelligible 
to  him." 

The  Trail  School  methods  appear  to  have  de- 
veloped the  constant  habit  of  accurate  observa- 
tion; of  learning  to  see;  looking  with  eager,  inter- 
ested eyes  and  seeing  things  as  they  are.     Of  an 


i78    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

evening  when  the  children  are  merrily  recounting 
the  experiences  of  the  day  we  are  impressed  with 
the  fact  that  they  see  accurately  and  recount 
truthfully,  and  judge  by  the  evidence. 

These  children  are  in  love  with  their  activities. 
Burroughs  has  said  that  knowledge  acquired  with- 
out love  will  not  stick.  The  most  amazing  things 
brought  out  by  the  Trail  School  are  the  accuracy 
with  which  the  children  see  and  acquire  facts  and 
the  correctness  with  which  they  describe  what  they 
have  seen. 

It  might  be  thought  that  our  ways  of  doing  things 
would  make  the  children  unsystematic;  but  when 
reached  by  that  magnificent  incentive  called  in- 
terest the  child  goes  after  anything — difficult,  easy, 
pleasant,  or  otherwise.  It  is  a  joy  to  do  it.  We 
found  that  the  children  quickly  developed  the 
mental  habit  of  being  systematic  just  through 
interest.  It  was  not  long  before  a  child  system- 
atically and  persistently  followed  an  interest  by 
specializing  upon  it,  thus  forming  the  acquaintance 
also  of  the  things  related  to  it. 

A  few  weeks  of  this  meant  one  hundred  per  cent 
health.  The  child  learned  to  use  his  senses, 
learned  to  see  and  to  hear;  he  accumulated  facts, 
materials  which  compelled  thought  and  developed 
the  imagination.  He  became  a  reasoner.  The 
mind  grew  like  a  wild  garden.  When  it  was  all 
over  most  of  the  children  had  developed  interests 
in  world  subjects  that  had  not  been  even  men- 


CHILDREN  OF  MY  TRAIL  SCHOOL         179 

tioned.  They  had  sympathies — universal  feel- 
ings. They  were  developing  democratic  actions 
and  habits. 

Above  all,  we  try  to  develop  the  imagination, 
which  has  been  called  "the  supreme  intellectual 
faculty" — an  imagination  based  on  realities.  This 
kind  of  imagination  deals  ever  with  cause  and  ef- 
fect; it  touches  cold  facts  with  fancy;  gives  the 
poetic  interpretation — that  is  to  say,  with  cause, 
effect,  and  vision,  it  shows  possibilities  of  develop- 
ment. 

A  tree  seed  touched  with  imagination  becomes 
a  forest  full  of  wilderness  life  in  a  natural  manner, 
without  enchantment  or  magic.  A  prospector 
dreams  of  gold  and  glory.  He  seeks  it  with  a  pick; 
never  does  he  look  for  it  at  the  foot  of  the  rainbow, 
or  expect  it  as  a  reward  from  a  king,  or  wait  for  a 
fairy  to  bring  it. 

Most  legends  and  fairy  stories  mislead  the  mind 
and  betray  the  imagination.  Such  magic  ever 
dreams  of  castles  in  Spain.  Mental  mirages 
waste  many  a  life. 

The  normal  imagination  hitches  its  wagon  to  a 
star  or  a  mule,  and  the  team  travels  merrily, 
whether  it  arrives  or  not.  This  imagination  is 
based  on  realities;  it  is  one  that  sees  the  logical  and 
natural  results  or  developments  in  advance  and 
pictures  glorious  changes  through  natural  growth 
or  evolution,  and  never  by  magic  or  enchantment. 
This  normal  imagination  is  a  combination  of  in- 


i8o    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

formation  and  inspiration;  it  is  creative,  rouses 
effort,  and  gets  results. 

In  brief,  then,  all  we  are  trying  to  do  may  be 
stated  as  follows:  We  found  that  every  child 
wanted  to  learn.  He  asked  questions.  He  was 
interested.  Our  opportunity  lay  in  the  rightful 
answering  of  questions.  These  answers  must  ap- 
peal to  the  imagination.  We  tried  in  our  answer 
to  continue  and  multiply  this  interest  by  showing 
him  something  new,  and  more  than  he  was  expect- 
ing. 

Often  our  answer  was  part  of  a  story.  But  we 
answered  with  words,  stories,  demonstrations,  ex- 
cursions, and  even  books.  He  was  led  into  larger 
interests.  Nature  interested  him  most.  Nothing 
discouraged  him  so  long  as  he  was  interested.  In- 
terest made  play  out  of  work.  We  have  never 
found  a  lazy  child. 

These  answers  gave  impressions;  gave  a  variety 
of  mental  experiences  and  resources.  They  pleas- 
antly compelled  reasoning  and  creating — started 
the  unquenchable  imagination.  In  a  short  time 
a  child  was  telling  of  his  interests,  talking  about 
his  experiences.  He  was  learning;  he  had  begun 
to  create  and  to  express.     He  was  interested  in  life. 

Doctor  Arnold  said  that  if  he  could  teach  his  boys 
but  one  thing,  "that  thing  would  be  poetry." 
Poetry,  of  course,  sustains  and  develops  that 
strange  but  almost  all-masterly  faculty  called 
imagination.     And  it  is  doubtful  that  any  influence 


CHILDREN  OF  MY  TRAIL  SCHOOL         181 

so  helps  the  imagination  as  the  influence  of  nature 
on  the  child's  mind.  When  Captain  Scott  was 
dying  in  the  Antarctic  ice-fields  he  wrote  to  Mrs. 
Scott:  "Make  our  boy  interested  in  natural  historv 
if  you  can." 

Agassiz  has  said  that  a  year  or  two  of  natural 
history  would  give  the  best  kind  of  training  for 
any  other  sort  of  mental  work. 

Long  ago  Tyndall  emphasized  the  fact  that 
first-hand  facts  and  materials  are  infinitely  more 
valuable  than  those  brought  to  us.  Burbank  has 
repeatedly  said  that  intimate  contact  with  nature 
is  necessary  for  children. 

A  trail  school  may  be  had  anywhere.  In  any 
nook  where  nature  reigns  she  tells  her  story  to  all 
children  brought  to  her  and  they  hear  her  enthu- 
siastically. But  a  leader  or  teacher  for  each  school 
is  the  rub.  Nature  will  appeal  to  children  and 
actively  interest  them  unless  blocked  by  the  leader. 

A  witty  woman  once  said  that  the  way  to  interest 
children  in  good  books  is  simply  to  expose  children 
to  them.  The  chief  means  of  interesting  children 
in  nature  is  to  expose  them — to  bring  them  into 
contact  with  outdoor  things.  Every  child  has 
an  inherent  interest  in  the  outdoors,  which  with  a 
little  tact  may  be  tied  up  with  any  other  interest 
desired — books,  a  specialty,  or  with  any  and  every 
phase  of  life. 


WHAT  I  wish  to  bring  out  particularly  does  not 
concern  the  enrichment  oj  botanical  and  zoological 
knowledge,  greatly  important  as  I  regard  this,  but 
rather  the  enlarging  and  liberalizing  influences  which 
Nature  has  on  the  public  mind  generally. 

— Dr.  William  E.  Ritter. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A   DAY   WITH    A    NATURE    GUIDE 

ONE  morning  six  variously  attired  people, four 
men  and  two  women,  started  from  a  hotel 
in  the  Rocky  Mountain  National  Park 
with  a  nature  guide.  An  auto  whirled  them  to 
the  end  of  the  road  far  up  the  mountainside  from 
whence  they  continued  afoot.  They  were  bound 
for  one  of  the  eternal  snowdrifts  on  Long's  Peak. 

The  essence  of  nature  guiding  is  to  travel  grace- 
fully rather  than  to  arrive.  This  guide  tactfully 
put  two  or  three  at  ease  by  convincing  them  that 
in  the  United  States  the  belief  in  ferocious  animals 
is  a  superstition.  "And  no  one,"  he  continued, 
"in  this  locality  has  ever  been  attacked  by  a  wild 
animal."  The  day  was  perfect,  but  so  interest- 
ingly did  the  guide  describe  experiences  in  storms 
that  everyone  hoped  to  be  Rain-in-the-Face  be- 
fore evening. 

The  guide  was  jollied  for  being  silent.  These 
people,  true  to  the  customs  of  the  day,  asked  for 
rubber-neck  specialties  and  demanded  where  their 
megaphone  artist  was.  They  were  climbing  in 
a  V-shaped  canon,  travelling  west.     Presently  the 

185 


1 86    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

guide  pointed  out  that  the  right  or  north  wall 
rises  steeply  in  the  sun  and  is  covered  with  a  scat- 
tered growth  of  stocky,  long-armed  pines.  The 
left  or  south  wall,  which  faces  north,  has  a  crowded 
growth  of  short-armed,  tall  spruces.  In  the  bot- 
tom of  the  canon  between  these  closely  approach- 
ing, but  unlike  forests  is  a  lively  stream  with  a  few 
accompanying  firs,  willows,  and  flowers. 

Each  member  of  the  party  remembered  some- 
thing of  plant  distribution  and  each  contributed 
something  to  the  discussion  concerning  plant  zones, 
slope  exposures,  temperature,  and  moisture — the 
determinism  of  ecological  influences.  When  the 
scraps  of  information  ceased  the  guide  added  that 
each  canon  wall  also  had  its  special  kinds  of  insect 
and  mammal  life,  and  that  each  of  these  tree  species 
had  its  peculiar  insect  enemies  and  its  bird  and 
animal  neighbours.  Then,  too,  each  individual 
bird  and  animal,  every  pair  or  flock  claimed  a  small 
bit  of  territory  and  commonly  lived  closely  within 
this,  likewise  insisting  on  neighbours  keeping  within 
their  own  reservation. 

The  nature  guide  is  at  his  best  when  he  discusses 
facts  so  that  they  appeal  to  the  imagination  and  to 
the  reason,  gives  flesh  and  blood  to  cold  facts, 
makes  life  stories  of  inanimate  objects.  He  deals 
with  principles  rather  than  isolated  information, 
gives  biographies  rather  than  classifications.  Peo- 
ple are  out  for  recreation  and  need  restful,  intel- 
lectual visions,  and  not  dull,  dry  facts,  rules,  and 


A  DAY  WITH  A  NATURE  GUIDE  187 

manuals.  What  the  guide  says  is  essentially  na- 
ture literature  rather  than  encyclopedia  natural 
history. 

This  party  being  interested  in  the  distribution 
of  plant  and  animal  life,  and  in  erosion,  the  guide 
made  these  the  features  of  the  day's  excursion.  In 
a  mountain  region  widely  varying  life  zones  are 
seen  side  by  side;  and  two  or  three  types  of  ero- 
sion may,  in  places,  be  seen  from  one  viewpoint — 
the  wear  and  tear  on  the  earth's  surface  by  many 
forces  stands  out  unmistakably. 

All  that  the  guide  said  concerning  erosion  could 
be  set  down  under  the  heading :  The  Biography  of 
a  Canon.  The  various  forces  of  erosion — running 
water,  frost,  ice,  and  acid,  each  at  work  in  its  re- 
spective place  with  distinctive  tools — were  prying, 
wedging,  cutting  the  canon  wider  and  deeper.  Roots 
wedged  the  rocks  and  dissolved  them  with  acids, 
but  at  the  same  time  helped  also  to  resist  these 
tireless  forces,  placing  a  binding,  holding  network 
of  fibres.  Gravity  handled  the  transportation  of 
dislodged  material. 

Each  species  of  plant  and  animal  is  of  orderly 
distribution  and  is  found  in  the  places  that  furnish  it 
the  necessities  of  life.  On  the  middle  slopes  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains  are  trees,  flowers,  and  animals 
that  are  not  found  a  thousand  feet  farther  up  the 
slopes  nor  down  the  slopes  a  thousand  feet  in  the  foot- 
hills. The  guide's  discussion  was  the  autobiography 
of  each  species— The  Story  of  My  Life,  or  How  I 


188    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

Came  to  Be  Where  I  Am  and  What  I  Am.  In  this 
each  plant  and  animal  gave  its  adventures,  its 
customs,  its  home  territory,  its  climatic  zone,  and 
all  the  endless  and  insistent  play  of  the  radical  and 
romantic  forces  of  evolution,  environment,  and 
ecology. 

A  few  popular  and  scientific  names  of  species 
were  learned  but  the  guide  was  reticent  about 
giving  classifications.  His  chief  aim  was  to  arouse 
a  permanent  interest  in  nature's  ways,  and  this 
by  illuminating  big  principles. 

Climbing  silently  out  of  the  canon  up  a  moderate 
slope  just  under  timberline,  this  party  halted 
among  the  trees  for  a  few  minutes  on  the  edge  of  a 
small,  grassy  opening.  A  deer  and  her  two  spotted 
fawns  walked  out  into  view,  then  went  across  into 
the  woods. 

All  turned  aside  and  followed  a  porcupine  that 
was  lumbering  across  the  opening,  ignoring  their 
presence.  The  guide  remarked  that  there  may 
have  been  a  time  when  the  porcupine  threw  his 
quills,  standing  up  and  hurling  them,  he  imagined, 
like  a  primitive  man  a  spear,  but  that  the  present 
development  of  this  animal  would  prevent  the 
quills  being  thrown  more  than  three  or  four  inches. 
However,  the  other  woods  fellows  make  it  their 
business  to  keep  out  of  his  way.  He  has  long 
been  known  as  "the  stupidest  fellow  in  the  woods" : 
he  is  the  only  one  who  never  appears  to  play,  who 
has  no  interest  in  natural  history,  in  nature  guides, 


A  DAY  WITH  A  NATURE  GUIDE  189 

nor  in  the  world.  Being  so  well  shielded  and  hav- 
ing an  inexhaustible  food  supply  in  the  boundless 
forests,  he  has  not  developed  his  wit. 

Up  and  on  the  party  went,  except  a  man  and 
woman  who  lingered  to  watch  porky.  In  the  edge 
of  the  woods  the  guide  stopped  to  wait  for  the 
stragglers.  But  plainly  panic-stricken  at  being 
separated  from  the  party,  they  were  just  disap- 
pearing in  the  woods,  headed  north.  Asking  the 
others  not  to  stir  until  he  returned  the  guide 
dashed  after  them. 

On  reuniting  the  party  the  guide  discussed  the 
necessity  of  all  staying  together.  "Most  people,,, 
he  said,  "are  easily  confused  and  lose  their  direc- 
tion. Thus  it  is  bad  for  one  to  forge  ahead,  or  to 
turn  aside,  or  to  stay  behind.  Moving  together  is 
absolutely  necessary  for  the  happiness  of  the 
party. 

"Once,"  he  continued,  "a  capable  fellow  said 
he  would  go  ahead  and  wait  for  us  at  the  foot  of  a 
near-by  cliff.  He  never  reached  the  cliff.  While 
looking  for  him  others  of  the  party  scattered  and 
each  and  all  were  lost,  and  remained  out  over 
night." 

A  little  before  noon  they  walked  out  of  the  up- 
permost edge  of  the  woods  among  the  dwarfed 
trees  and  distorted  groves  at  timberline  —  an  aged 
and  battered  forest,  small  and  strange.  They 
were  above  the  altitude  of  eleven  thousand  feet. 

While  they  were  resting  the  guide  called  atten- 


190  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

tion  to  the  abundance  of  paint  brush — variously 
called  the  painted  cup  and  Indian  paint  brush — 
which  was  growing  near  by.  "  Digging  down  to 
the  roots  of  this  plant  parasite,"  he  said,  "you  will 
find  the  roots  of  one  specimen  clasped  over  the 
roots  of  another.  Of  course  its  parasitic  habits 
have  given  in  part  the  form  to  its  leaves  and 
bracts."  The  mountain  climbers  at  once  asked  for 
stories  about  the  character  and  habits  of  other 
flowers  and  of  the  trees. 

Beyond  them  on  the  edge  of  an  Arctic  moorland 
lay  a  snowfield  about  two  blocks  long.  It  ap- 
peared somewhat  like  uncut  marble.  Stained 
with  rock  dust,  inlaid  with  wind-blown  beetles  and 
grasshoppers,  its  granular  material  lay  melting  in 
the  sun.  A  bright  flower  border  encircled  it.  It 
was  made  up  of  flowers  of  many  kinds  and  colours, 
flowers  with  and  without  perfume,  flowers  dwarfed, 
and  flowers  on  tall,  stately  stalks.  In  small  com- 
pass was  a  variety  of  soil,  moisture,  and  tempera- 
ture conditions.  The  soil  along  the  upper  edges 
of  the  snowfield  was  coarse  and  dry;  below,  fine  and 
moist.  Each  species  of  plants  was  occupying  the 
peculiar  place  in  which  it  could  best  flourish,  or 
from  which  it  could  exclude  competitors.  It  was 
determinism — conditions  determining  the  distri- 
bution. 

It  probably  is  true  that  many  of  these  flowers 
were  developed  around  the  Arctic  Circle.  The 
guide   recounted  the  great   Ice   Age   story — how 


A  DAY  WITH  A  NATURE  GUIDE  191 

plant  and  bird  and  animal  life  had  been  swept 
southward  by  the  irresistible,  slow-moving  glacier. 
On  the  mountains  the  seeds  grew,  found  a  home; 
so,  too,  the  ptarmigan,  in  conditions  somewhat 
similar  to  the  old  home  in  the  Arctic.  In  this  new 
colony  these  birds  and  flowers  still  maintain  the 
traditions  of  their  respective  old  families. 

"I  am  disappointed  in  finding  bird  life  so  rare," 
said  one  man  of  the  party.  "I  have  seen  only  one 
bird  this  morning."  The  guide  remarked  that  he 
had  seen  at  least  twelve  species  of  birds,  and  that 
directly  before  them  at  that  moment  were  three 
species  in  plain  sight.  Why  had  he  seen  but  a 
single  bird?  His  eyes  had  not  been  trained  to  see. 
A  day  with  a  nature  guide  may  help  to  train  the 
eyes  and  all  the  senses. 

A  picnic  party  usually  does  much  talking  and 
more  eating.  A  sight-seeing  party  often  does 
things  by  the  book  and  talks  by  comparison.  A 
botany  or  a  birding  party  is  absorbed  in  details. 
But  a  nature  guided  party  is  vastly  different  from 
these:  all  of  the  party  have  a  broad  outdoor  inter- 
est. They  are  not  in  a  hurry,  they  are  in  a  mood  to 
be  human.  They  make  intimate  friendships  while 
getting  acquainted  with  nature.  One  day's  com- 
panionship in  the  wilds  often  better^acquaints  peo- 
ple with  each  other  than  years  of  ordinary  associa- 
tion. The  members  of  a  nature  guided  party  take 
on  a  wider,  happier  outlook.  All  are  glad  to  be 
living. 


i92    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

The  Bighorn,  or  wild  mountain  sheep,  was  seen 
at  close  range.  Why  these  animals  live  in  the 
heights  among  the  peaks  the  year  round  is  a  story 
that  ever  stirs.  Their  scene-commanding,  wild 
environment  has  exacted  of  them  alertness,  posi- 
tiveness,  sharp  eyes,  and  the  ability  to  play  safely 
where  there  is  much  space  and  little  substance  be- 
neath them.  The  interest  in  the  lives  of  these 
vigorous  animals  was  ever  spontaneous.  This, 
like  all  other  subjects,  was  kept  well  out  of  the 
category  of  weights  and  measures;  everything  that 
might  have  been  told  about  the  dissected  animal 
was  left  unsaid;  dry  bones  were  not  measured, 
nor  the  scientific  name  from  the  tomb  of  dead 
language  mentioned. 

Knowing  the  way  is  now  a  minor  guiding  neces- 
sity. Mental  development  and  character  are  the 
essentials  of  a  successful  guide.  He  needs  to  have 
a  wide  range  of  knowledge  and  to  be  capable  of 
tactfully  imparting  this  directly  and  indirectly. 

The  world  is  beginning  to  appreciate  the  ne- 
cessity of  an  outside  interest.  Fortunate  is  the 
individual  who  has  a  nature  hobby.  Such  an 
interest  is  known  to  improve  health,  lengthen  life, 
and  increase  efficiency.  An  excursion  with  a  na- 
ture guide  may  give  any  individual  a  new  or  a 
better  hobby.  Each  person  receives  a  chapter  in 
a  natural  history  story  that  makes  him  eager  for 
other  chapters  which  he  may  find  anywhere  out- 
doors. 


A  DAY  WITH  A  NATURE  GUIDE  193 

Dr.  Liberty  H.  Bailey  strikes  the  keynote,  I 
think,  of  nature  guiding  at  a  number  of  point 
in  his  "The  Nature-Study  Idea."  At  one  place 
in  this  he  says:  "I  like  the  man  who  has  had  an 
incomplete  course.  A  partial  view,  if  truthful,  is 
worth  more  than  a  complete  course,  if  lifeless.  If 
the  man  has  acquired  a  power  for  work,  a  capability 
for  initiative  and  investigation,  an  enthusiasm  for 
the  daily  life,  his  incompleteness  is  his  strength. 
How  much  there  is  before  him!  How  eager  his 
eye!  How  enthusiastic  his  temper!  He  is  a  man 
with  a  point  of  view,  not  a  man  with  mere  facts. 
This  man  will  see  first  the  large  and  significant 
events;  he  will  grasp  relationships;  he  will  corre- 
late; later,  he  will  consider  the  details." 

Timberline,  what  determines  it,  and  the  species 
of  trees  that  compose  it;  beavers,  their  part  in  con- 
servation and  their  influence  on  the  settlement  and 
exploration  of  America;  parasitic  plants;  the  story 
of  soil;  the  birth,  life,  and  death  of  a  lake;  the  home 
territory  of  animals;  wind,  the  great  seed-sower — 
are  some  of  the  many  possible  interests  of  the 
trail. 

A  few  people  for  years  have  practised  nature 
guiding  occasionally.  It  has  made  good  and  it 
has  a  place  in  national  life.  It  carries  with  it 
health,  mental  stimulus,  and  inspiration.  Recently 
nature  guiding  was  given  a  definite  place  in  the 
national  parks  by  the  Government  licensing  a 
number    of    nature    guides    to    conduct    people 


i94    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

through  the  wilds.  Nature  ever  is  liberalizing, 
and  the  nature  guide  is  one  of  the  forces  moving 
for  the  newer  education  and  for  the  ideal  of  inter- 
nationalism. 

Nature  guiding  is  not  like  sight-seeing  or  the 
scenery  habit.  The  guide  sometimes  takes  his 
party  to  a  commanding  viewpoint  or  a  beautiful 
spot.  But  views  are  incidental.  The  aim  is  to 
illuminate  and  reveal  the  alluring  world  outdoors 
by  introducing  determining  influences  and  the  re- 
spondent tendencies.  A  nature  guide  is  an  inter- 
preter of  geology,  botany,  zoology,  and  natural 
history. 

This  guide  listened  courteously  to  those  who 
wanted  to  display  their  own  information — even  to 
those  who  indulged  in  nature-faking  or  told  stories 
that  were  wrhoppers;  but  he  carefully  avoided  fol- 
lowing their  example.  Local  natural  history  he 
often  related,  and  he  was  sure  of  an  interested 
audience,  for  everyone  enjoys  local  colour  and  is 
glad  to  have  past  incidents  brought  to  life.  He  was 
a  true  guide.  He  had  the  utmost  consideration 
for  those  in  his  care,  and  a  quick  eye  for  the  inter- 
esting and  the  beautiful.  He  had  the  faculty  of 
being  entertaining,  instructive,  watchful,  and  com- 
manding, all  without  his  party  realizing  it.  He 
held  the  climbers  together,  keeping  everyone  alert 
and  in  good  humour;  he  is  doing  a  distinct  and  hon- 
ourable work  for  the  world. 

Children  enthusiastically  enjoy  a  day  with  a  na- 


A  DAY  WITH  A  NATURE  GUIDE  195 

ture  guide  and  fortunate  the  child  who  can  have  a 
number  of  these  excursions.  They  are  thought- 
compelling,  interest-arousing.  Children  are  led 
after  the  manner  of  old  people.  They  must  not  be 
talked  down  to.  The  guide  may  enter  a  little 
more  intimately  into  their  joys,  perhaps,  making 
slight  re-adjustments  to  their  tastes.  As  a  rule, 
the  imagination  of  children  is  more  readily  and 
definitely  fired  than  that  of  older  people. 

Climbing  a  high  peak  is  an  excellent  experience 
for  any  child.  A  thousand  movies  of  mountain 
climbers,  a  thousand  stories  by  the  climbers  them- 
selves, weeks  in  school,  and  numerous  other  ex- 
periences cannot  do  for  the  child  what  one  day's 
effort  in  the  heights  will  do  for  him.  Mountain 
climbing  has  rare  richness  which  cannot  be  trans- 
ferred, but  which  any  child  may  make  his  own  in 
a  day. 

The  climb  should  be  made  with  a  nature  guide. 
One  other  individual  or  child  might  go  along,  but  it 
would  be  better  for  the  child  to  have  only  the  guide 
to  interrupt  his  stirring  thoughts.  A  day  of  this 
kind  will  do  much  for  the  child's  imagination  and 
mental  resourcefulness,  and  give  a  landmark  to 
his  mental  horizon  that  will  stand  out  througli 
life. 

In  this  the  Age  of  Movies  it  will  be  a  fortunate 
child  who  has  interest  in  the  fundamentals;  who  is 
rich  through  knowing  the  principles  of  Nature.  An 
interest  in  flowers,  birds,  animals,  or  geology  calls 


i96  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

for  outdoor  excursions,  for  initiative,  gives  breadth 
of  view,  and  is  a  life-long  resource  within.  The 
movies  will  be  improved,  but  even  at  their  best 
they  can  never  do  for  a  child  what  an  outdoor  in- 
terest will  enable  him  to  do  more  beneficially  for 
himself. 

One  day  a  guide  was  out  with  several  children 
under  eight  years  of  age.  They  became  interested 
in  a  double-topped  spruce.  They  learned  that  the 
original  tree-top  was  broken  off  and  that  the  two 
topmost  twigs  then  bent  upward  and  raced  for 
leadership.  They  had  run  a  dead  heat,  as  it  were, 
and  continued  rival  leaders.  During  the  remain- 
der of  the  day  the  children  often  spotted  a  double- 
topped  tree.  The  cones  of  trees  were  noticed,  and 
of  course  the  cones  of  the  balsam  fir  caused  com- 
ment because  these  stood  erect  upon  the  limbs  in- 
stead of  hanging  down  from  them. 

In  a  small  area,  where  a  forest  fire  had  swept 
fifteen  years  before,  a  few  trees  had  survived.  An 
examination  of  two  of  these  revealed  old  fire  scars. 
One  of  the  scars  indicated  that  the  tree  had  been 
injured  by  the  fire  of  fifteen  years  before  and  by 
another  fire  eighty-seven  years  previous.  A  few 
young  aspens  and  thousands  of  young  lodgepole 
seedlings  were  starting.  Why  the  lodgepole  pines 
were  growing  here  brought  out  a  discussion  con- 
cerning the  trees  that  commonly  were  the  first  to 
appear  in  a  cleared  or  burned-over  area.  Only  a 
few  species  of  young  trees  thrive  in  the  sunlight; 


A  DAY  WITH  A  NATURE  GUIDE  197 

others  need  shade  in  which  to  start.  This  principle 
appealed  to  the  children.  An  old  seed-hoarding 
lodgepole  on  the  edge  of  the  burned  area  was  sur- 
rounded and  examined.  It  had  borne  a  crop  or 
cones  each  year  for  seventeen  years.  All  of  these 
cones,  unopened,  clung  thickly  over  its  limbs. 

A  few  days  before  the  guide  had  led  a  party  of 
older  people  over  precisely  the  route  followed  by 
these  children.  He  had  talked  to  both  parties 
similarly,  but  apparently  the  children  had  more 
deep  and  lasting  enjoyment  out  of  the  day. 

Who  would  not  be  delighted  to  go  with  a  John 
Burroughs  or  a  John  Muir,  to  be  personally  con- 
ducted to  woods,  lakes,  and  streams  by  anyone  who 
bubbled  over  with  stories  about  birds,  their  home 
life  and  their  travels,  chipmunks  and  their  children, 
and  all  the  other  stories  and  secrets  of  the  wilder- 


ness ? 


It  is  splendid  to  have  thousands  of  men,  women, 
and  children  coming  home  each  year  from  their 
vacations  talking  of  the  habits  and  customs  of 
the  animals  and  plants  with  which  they  became 
acquainted  on  their  enjoyable  yet  purposeful 
holidays. 

Nature  guiding  need  not  be  confined  to  national 
parks.  There  might  well  be  nature  guides  in 
every  locality  in  the  land.  Fabre  has  shown 
monsters  and  hundreds  of  little,  stirring  people 
cooperating  or  battling  in  every  growth-filled 
space.    City  parks  and  the  wild  places  near  cities 


i98  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

and  villages  are  available  to  thousands  of  people 
and  are  excellent  places  for  the  cultural  and  inspir- 
ing excursions  with  nature  guides.  Ere  long  nature 
guiding  will  be  an  occupation  of  honour  and  dis- 
tinction.   May  the  tribe  increase  \ 


WE  LIVE  for  the  most  part  in  a  very  iron  mask 
of  forms.  Our  daily  ways  are  at  bottom  so  joy- 
less,  so  trite,  so  compulsory,  that  we  must  be  free 
and  simple  sometimes,  or  we  break.  Our  present 
world  is  a  world  of  remarkable  civilization  and  of 
very  superior  virtue,  but  it  is  not  very  natural  and 
not  very  happy.  We  need  yet  some  snatches  of 
the  life  of  youth — to  be  for  a  season  simply  happy 
and  simply  healthy.  We  need  to  draw  sometimes 
great  drafts  of  simplicity  and  beauty.  We  need 
sometimes  that  poetry  should  be  not  droned  into  our 
ears,  but  flashed  into  our  senses.  And  man,  with 
all  his  knowledge  and  his  pride,  needs  sometimes  to 
know  nothing  and  to  feel  nothing  but  that  he  is  a 
marvellous  atom  in  a  marvellous  world, 

— Frederic  Harrison. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

PLAY   AND    PRANKS    OF   WILD   FOLK 

THE  plays  of  wild  folk  are  delightful  ex- 
hibitions and  may  frequently  be  enjoyed  by 
those  who  wait  in  the  wilderness  without  a 
gun.  Knowing  that  wild  folk  play  and  that  they 
have  a  home  territory  brings  them  strangely  close 
to  ourselves. 

Life  in  the  wild  places  is  not  all  struggle — not  all 
hunger,  fright,  and  fighting.  All  wild  animals  find 
time  to  rest,  and  all  from  time  to  time  give  them- 
selves up  to  play.  They  mostly  play  in  silence  but 
a  few  play  noisily;  the  majority  join  with  others 
to  frolic,  but  a  number  of  species  play  singly.  Team- 
work has  an  important  place  in  the  life  of  many 
bird  and  animal  species.  And  play  appears  vital 
to  them  all. 

A  tumbleweed  in  a  Wyoming  windstorm  fur- 
nished the  plaything  in  an  exciting  game  for  a  pack 
of  wolves.  I  watched  the  play  from  the  shelter  of 
a  ravine.  Flying  before  the  wind,  the  tumble- 
weed  bounded  a  ridge  with  a  huge  wolf  leaping 
after  it.  Closely  pressing  him  came  a  pursuing 
pack  of  twenty.  A  lull  in  the  wind  and  the  tum- 
bleweed,   colliding   with  the  leading  wolfs  head, 

201 


202    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

bounded  off  to  one  side.  Other  wolves  sprang  in 
the  air  after  it,  but  the  wind  carried  the  tumble- 
weed  along  and  the  entire  pack  rushed  in  pursuit. 

This  big,  much-branched,  ball-shaped  weed  was 
two  feet  in  diameter.  When  it  touched  the  earth 
the  gale  swept  it,  bounding  forward  and  rolling 
over  and  over,  across  the  brown,  wide  plains.  After 
it  came  the  closely  massed  wolves.  Just  as  those 
in  the  lead  were  nearing  this  animated  plaything 
it  was  caught  by  a  whirlwind  and  pulled  high  into 
the  air.  Two  wolves  leaped  and  tried  to  seize 
it.  Several  sat  down  and  stared  after  it  as 
though  it  were  gone  forever.  The  tumbleweed 
commenced  to  descend,  but  buoyed  up  by  the  air 
it  came  down  slowly.  The  pack  surged  this  way 
and  that,  as  the  weed  surged  in  descending,  to  be 
beneath  it;  and  while  it  was  still  several  feet  above 
them  a  high-leaping  fellow  struck  it  head-on  and 
sent  it  flying  to  one  side.  It  disappeared  in  a  hol- 
low and  the  wolves  vanished  after  it.  Puffs  of 
dust  and  occasionally  the  high-bounding  weed 
itself  told  me  that  the  game  was  on  as  vigorously 
as  ever. 

The  next  act  opened  with  the  re-appearance  of 
one  of  the  wolves  running  up  a  slope  and  looking 
back  over  his  shoulder.  Up  in  the  wind,  a  little 
behind  him  and  off  to  one  side,  came  the  tumble- 
weed.  The  wolf  turned,  leaped  at  the  weed,  struck 
it  with  his  breast,  and  knocked  it  vaulting  away. 
The  pack,  rushing  into  view,  swerved  as  one  to  seize 


PLAY  AND  PRANKS  OF  WILD  FOLK        205 

or  strike  it.  Each  player  was  intense,  and  all  were 
as  serious  as  football  players.  A  sweeping  gale 
carried  the  whirling  weed  forward  again.  It  came 
in  contact  with  a  rock  outcrop  and  rolled  to  one 
side.  The  whole  team  rushed  at  the  weed  and 
tumbled  pellmell  around  it. 

In  this  general  mix-up  two  of  the  wolves  started 
a  fight.  The  pack  joined  in  the  row,  struggling 
and  rolling  about.  A  pair  occasionally  clinched, 
reared  into  the  air,  and  fell  back.  The  badly 
mashed  tumbleweed  with  crippling  bounces  went 
on  with  the  wind  across  the  wide,  dust-blown 
plains.  Suddenly  the  fight  stopped,  the  panting 
wolves  stood  for  a  few  seconds  looking  at  nothing, 
then  scattered.  The  play  was  over.  Had  it 
started,  I  wondered,  as  unceremoniously,  as  sud- 
denly, as  it  stopped? 

Most  wild-animal  players  are  as  solemn  as  chess 
contestants,  and  most  games  are  as  serious  as  a 
football  match.  The  characteristic  play  of  the 
Tvolf  is  serious,  silent  team-work.  But  the  digni- 
fied, independent  grizzly  plays  alone.  He,  too,  romps 
in  silence,  but  joyfully.  He  relaxes  and  has  the 
time  of  his  life.  Bears  appear  to  excel  in  light- 
hearted,  merry  make-believe. 

A  grizzly  bear  coasting  on  a  steep  mountain-side 
made  a  picturesque  play  spectacle.  He  was  play- 
ing on  a  summit  slope  south  of  Long's  Peak  in 
what  is  now  the  Rocky  Mountain  National  Park. 
As  he  sat  down  in  the  snow,  put  his  fore  paws  on  his 


204    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

knees  and  jiggled  himself  along  to  start,  he  ap- 
peared strangely  human.  At  one  point  he  reached 
back  his  paw  and  put  on  brakes.  He  ended  the 
coast  with  a  jump  and  a  somersault.  Then,  se- 
lecting a  different  place  on  the  slope,  he  started 
down  again,  pushing  himself  along  with  both  fore 
paws  to  get  up  speed.  He  ended  this  time  by 
deliberately  rolling  over  and  over.  Rising  on  hind 
feet  he  looked  at  his  marks  on  the  snowy  slope  and 
climbed  back  up  for  another  coast. 

Twice  I  have  seen  a  black  bear,  "The  Happy 
Hooligan  of  the  Woods,"  and  a  coyote  playing  to- 
gether. In  one  of  these  games  the  bear,  solemn- 
looking  as  an  elephant  but  as  merry  as  a  boy,  would 
allow  the  coyote  to  leap  over  him  but  used  his  speed 
and  his  wits  in  trying  to  prevent  the  co}^ote  from 
ducking  under  him  or  leaping  across  close  in  front 
of  him.  The  coyote's  play  was  puppy-like,  though 
suggesting  at  times  fox  cleverness.  They  were 
well  matched,  both  in  skill  and  speed.  They  made 
lively  dashes  and  swift  turns  as  they  raced  across 
a  grassy  opening  in  the  woods.  They  varied  this 
swift  turning  by  slow  passing,  biting,  and  striking 
at  each  other  as  they  met.  Then  each  in  turn 
enjoyed  the  ludicrous  pretence  of  being  asleep 
while  the  other  went  through  an  equally  ludicrous 
pretence  of  trying  to  slip  up  and  surprise  the 
sleeper. 

As  games  often  end,  this  play  broke  up  in  a  row. 
The  coyote  lost  his  temper  and  made  a  fierce  but 


PLAY  AND  PRANKS  OF  WILD  FOLK        205 

ineffectual  attack  on  the  bear.  He  finally  walked 
off  into  the  woods,  with  the  bear  standing  looking 
regretfully  after  him. 

The  boy-like  black  bear  would  rather  play  than 
eat.  Once  I  saw  a  black  bear  try  repeatedly  to  get 
a  stupid,  lumbering  porcupine  to  play  with  him. 
All  the  way  across  an  opening  he  made  efforts  to 
start  a  game,  but  dull  porky  lumbered  on  indiffer- 
ently. The  porcupine  is  the  only  animal  that 
I  have  known  which  I  have  never  seen  play. 

The  black  bear  will  play  with  bears,  or  with  other 
animals,  or  with  people  with  apparently  equal  en- 
joyment. In  the  Yellowstone  I  raced  and  dodged 
about  with  several  that  were  nearly  wild,  to  my 
own  entertainment  as  well  as  theirs.  Bears  play  less 
often  with  objects.  But  I  once  watched  a  make- 
believe  battle  which  one  was  having  with  a 
stump,  and  on  another  occasion  I  saw  an  older 
bear  with  a  cone,  striking  it  about,  tossing  it  into 
the  air,  trying  to  catch  it  as  it  fell,  and  shaking  it  in 
his  teeth  as  he  rolled  about  on  his  back  with  feet  in 
the  air. 

In  most  cases  neither  birds  nor  animals  use  play- 
things. But  I  have  seen  birds  play  with  sticks, 
stones,  leaves,  and  nuts;  an  otter  play  with  shells 
and  even  using  a  live  turtle  for  a  plaything;  and  a 
grizzly  playing  with  a  floating  log. 

Rambling  through  the  Medicine  Bow  Mountains 
of  Colorado,  one  afternoon,  I  .came  upon  a  grizzly 
bear  sitting  on  his  haunches  like  a  dog  and  looking 


2o6  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

with  all  attention  across  a  beaver  pond.  Making 
a  quiet  detour  through  the  primeval  forest  I  found 
that  he  was  watching  a  number  of  otter  playfully 
coasting  on  their  slide. 

The  smooth,  slippery,  wet  slide,  about  forty 
feet  long,  came  down  the  steeply  wooded  slope  into 
the  south  shore  of  the  pond.  The  slide  was  well 
worn  and  testified  to  the  strong  play  habits  of  these 
animals.  Each  coasting  otter  ended  with  a  merry 
splash  as  he  slid  into  the  water.  The  glimpses 
that  I  had  of  the  coasters  showed  that  they  were  all 
enjoyment.  The  grizzly,  all  the  time  I  watched, 
was  giving  the  otter  enthusiastic  attention.  But 
he  was  only  one  of  many  spectators.  A  flock  of 
wild  ducks  sat  motionless  in  the  pond  observing  the 
players.  The  coasting  suddenly  stopped  and  the 
otter  disappeared  in  the  water.  A  squirrel  on  a 
spruce  limb  overhanging  the  slide  had  also  been  a 
wondering  spectator  of  the  play,  and  with  jerky, 
hesitating  chatter  of  a  bark  expressed  his  disap- 
pointment and  disapproval  because  the  perform- 
ance was  ended. 

The  characteristic  play  of  coyotes  is  noisy. 
They  have  concerts  full  of  howls,  barks,  and  yelps, 
in  ever-varying  combinations.  These  players  have 
regular  places  for  assembling  and  both  singly  and 
collectively  send  their  wild  notes  flying  at  dif- 
ferent angles  off  into  the  night.  There  are  weird, 
ventriloquial  effects  which  sometimes  multiply 
and  reproduce  one  yapping,  yelping  entertainer 


PLAY  AND  PRANKS  OF  WILD  FOLK   207 

into  a  scattered  number.  At  other  times  the 
howler  so  transfers  his  voice  that  it  seems  to  issue 
from  a  point  widely  separated  from  the  owner. 
But  sometimes  this  clown  of  the  prairie  forgets 
singing  to  the  stars,  and  in  silence  has  games  and 
contests  which  require  speed  and  skill. 

The  humpback  whale  appears  to  be  the  most 
playful  fellow  of  the  seven  seas.  He  plays  singly, 
with  other  whales  of  all  ages,  and  he  will  even  play 
with  a  ship.  Off  the  coast  of  Alaska  a  number  of 
humpbacks  were  at  play  near  the  steamer  on  which 
I  was  a  passenger.  They  appeared  to  have  great 
fun.  As  speedy  and  as  agile  as  trout,  they  threshed 
about,  raced,  and  countermarched.  One  literally 
stood  on  his  head,  and  with  only  his  tail  out  of  the 
water  beat  and  churned  the  waves  violently.  Most 
of  all  they  appeared  to  enjoy  diving,  then  coming 
to  the  surface  with  all  possible  speed,  shooting 
thirty  or  more  feet  of  their  ponderous  bodies  out 
of  the  water,  and  rolling  awkwardly  to  one  side  as 
they  fell  heavily  back  into  the  sea. 

The  play  of  the  jays  and  the  crows  is  often  fun 
at  the  expense  of  others.  Clarke's  nutcracker  is  a 
rowdy,  assailing  squirrels  and  precipitating  fights 
between  birds  of  other  species.  He  is  also  a  dare- 
devil in  flying  exhibitions  and  excels  in  spectacular 
airplane  dips. 

The  long  crested  jay  is  keen  witted  and  cynical, 
and  it  seems  natural  that  in  playing  he  should  go  the 
limit  in  rowdyism  and  the  ridiculous,  and  indulge 


2o8    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

in  endless  pranks.  He  is  strong  for  vaudeville  and 
farces;  he  likes  to  impersonate,  to  surprise,  and  to 
annoy.  I  once  saw  a  number  of  jays  in  an  exhibi- 
tion in  which  each  seemed  to  be  endeavouring  to 
outdo  the  others.  They  skipped  and  jumped, 
kicked  awkwardly,  caricatured  the  pose  of  a  stork, 
somersaulted,  and  tried  flying  from  a  height  with 
one  wing  and  dropping  ungracefully  upside  down — 
no  end  of  reckless  rowdyism  and  mockery. 

Once  in  the  snow  on  a  mountain  top  I  saw  a  flock 
of  ptarmigan  in  a  strange,  energetic,  though  silent, 
dance.     Most  birds  are  quiet  in  their  play. 

Four  sedate  and  wise  old  owls  surprised  me  be- 
yond measure  with  a  play  that  was  mostly  ridicu- 
lous showing-off.  They  tried  to  do  a  few  things 
absurdly  impossible  for  them  to  do.  One  of  these 
stunts  was  chasing  their  tails,  and  another  was 
high  kicking.  But  most  of  their  efforts  were  more 
in  keeping  with  their  ordinary  mien;  they  bowed 
profoundly,  they  posed  in  lordly  pairs,  they  looked 
to  the  right  and  left  with  a  most  aristocratic  air, 
they  adjusted  and  readjusted  themselves  with 
ceremonious  dignity. 

The  energetic  beaver  gives  marked  attention  to 
play.  Each  summer  he  has  a  vacation  of  three 
months  or  longer.  He  probably  loafs  the  most  of 
any  animal  in  the  wilds.  He  plays  much  and  often 
and  is  master  of  the  fine  art  of  rest. 

Although  I  have  seen  mountain  lions  only  a  few 
times   when   they  were   not   frightened,   twice   I 


Photo  by  Irene  Jerome  Hood 


The  classic  Mariposa  Lily  of  the  Western  prairies 


PLAY  AND  PRANKS  OF  WILD  FOLK        209 

watched  them  play.  On  one  of  these  occasions  the 
lion  was  enjoying  the  pretence  of  running  down  an 
animal,  and  carried  out  a  lively  pantomime  in  the 
snow,  frolicing  like  a  kitten. 

One  spring  day  a  flock  of  Bighorn  sheep  found 
a  large  snowdrift  across  their  trail  on  the  summit 
of  Storm  Pass.  They  could  easily  have  gone 
around  it,  but  evidently  saw  here  what  suggested 
an  excuse  to  frolic.  One  at  a  time,  they  started 
to  jump  the  drift.  The  first  performer,  on  gaining 
the  farther  side,  turned  about  to  watch  the  others 
try  it.  As  each  jumper  landed  he  quickly  lined 
up  with  those  who  had  preceded  him  and  faced 
about  to  watch  the  performance,  while  the  sheep 
awaiting  their  turn  also  gave  their  close  attention 
as  each  jump  was  made. 

The  style  of  jump  and  the  distance  covered  were 
much  alike  in  each  case.  Most  of  the  sheep  made 
a  standing  jump;  two  or  three  backed  off  several 
steps  and  got  a  running  start  for  the  leap.  One 
made  a  clumsy  pretence  of  slipping  and  came  down 
in  the  snow  on  his  side.  Two  young  lambs  went 
together  and  instead  of  jumping  far,  jumped  high, 
coming  down  in  the  centre  of  the  drift.  After  the 
last  one  had  crossed  the  sheep  stood  together  for  a 
few  seconds  and  then  strolled  on,  plainly  with  noth- 
ing in  particular  to  do. 

One  day  I  saw  a  number  of  sheep  scrambling  and 
circling  on  an  icy  slope.  The  fun  probably  was 
to  keep  from  falling,  but  it  may  have  been  in  the 


2io  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

falling.  Every  one  fell  a  number  of  times.  A 
few  times  all  four  feet  shot  from  beneath  a  sheep 
at  once,  and  in  his  sliding  a  number  of  rising  efforts 
were  made,  only  to  result  in  the  sheep's  falling  each 
time  before  it  got  on  its  feet  again. 

Even  butterflies  play.  Climbers  on  Long's 
Peak  sometimes  see  them  floating  up  the 
Trough.  Often  there  is  an  air  current  flowing  up 
the  Trough,  and  sometimes  this  catches  hats  and 
takes  them  with  it. 

One  calm,  sunny  day  I  looked  down  over  the 
summit  of  the  Peak  and  saw  a  procession  of  but- 
terflies floating  or  sailing  up  the  Trough.  On 
reaching  the  summit  a  majority  of  them  dropped 
down  the  vertical  south  wall  of  the  peak  about 
four  hundred  feet,  then  flew  westward  and  swung 
in  behind  a  pinnacle  where  they  reentered  the 
Trough  near  the  bottom.  At  a  point  where  an 
upstanding  rock  in  the  Trough  changed  the  cur- 
rent there  was  a  lively  flapping  of  wings  as  though 
these  aviators,  like  boatmen  in  rapids,  were  tensely 
concentrated.  Rarely  did  a  butterfly  leave  the 
ranks  in  ascending,  though  in  coming  down  the 
line  was  more  broken. 

It  was  a  wild  region  for  these  fragile-winged  crea- 
tures. The  first  time  that  I  saw  them  I  long 
watched  and  wondered  what  it  was  all  about.  But 
after  seeing  similar  exhibitions  elsewhere,  and 
after  watching  repeated  flights  at  this  place,  I  con- 
cluded that  butterflies,  as  well  as  other  life,  play. 


PLAY  AND  PRANKS  OF  WILD  FOLK        211 

On  perfect  days  butterflies  sail  over  high  moor- 
lands and  even  cross  high  mountain  tops.  But 
while  sailing  on  the  heights  they  are  ever  vigilant 
for  wind.  The  short-lived,  unannounced  gusts 
would  blow  their  tender  wings  to  pieces  in  an 
instant.  If  a  dash  of  wind,  or  sometimes  just 
a  cloud  shadow  comes,  they  fold  wings  and  drop 
to  the  earth.  There  they  lie  motionless  until  all 
danger  is  passed.  Yet  these  frail,  afraid-of-t he- 
wind  people  seek  out  a  place  of  their  liking  to  play 
high  up  among  the  crags. 

I  recall  once  having  seen  two  different  plays  go- 
ing on  side  by  side.  Each  was  a  stirring  glimpse 
of  motherhood.  A  mother  bear  lay  on  her  side 
contentedly  watching  the  cubs  as  they  wrestled, 
boxed  each  other,  and  occasionally  mauled  her. 
They  were  near  the  summit  of  the  Continental 
Divide  and  all  around  were  scattered  snow-drifts 
and  aged,  storm-battered  pines.  On  a  near-by  cliff 
were  a  Bighorn  ewe  and  two  lambs.  The  lambs 
were  leaping  over  the  mother  and  playing  with 
each  other.  Each  wild  mother  knew  of  the  other's 
presence,  but  was  indifferent. 

With  animals,  as  with  ourselves,  play  appears 
to  be  necessary  for  the  development  of  the  young 
and  for  the  sustained  fitness  of  the  mature.  As  a 
factor  which  gives  success,  it  probably  ranks  with 
food  and  sleep.  Play  drills  give  development  and 
efficiency. 

Play  is  the  nearest  approach  to  the  magic  foun- 


212    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

tain  of  youth.  Distinguished  wild  folk,  those  alert 
and  quick  to  re-adjust  themselves  to  the  ever- 
changing  conditions — those  surviving,  succeeding 
and  evolving— are  those  ever  loyal  to  life's  best 
ally — the  youth  called  Play. 

The  wonderful  story  of  Evolution  shows  that 
playing  animals  are  most  likely  to  survive  and 
leave  offspring.  Cooperation  or  team-work  ap- 
pears to  be  the  outgrowth  of  team  play.  This  is 
closely  allied  to  Mutual  Aid,  which  is  a  conspicuous 
factor  in  Evolution,  and  in  Mutual  Aid  appears 
to  be  the  beginning  of  a  conscious  consideration 
for  the  rights  of  others. 


TO  SPEAK  about  sparing  anything  because  it  is 
beautiful  is  to  waste  one' 's  breath  and  incur  ridicule 
in  the  bargain.  The  aesthetic  sense — the  power  to 
enjoy  through  the  eye,  the  ear,  and  the  imagination — 
is  just  as  important  a  factor  in  the  scheme  of  human 
happiness  as  the  corporeal  sense  of  eating  and  drink- 
ing; but  there  has  never  been  a  time  when  the  world 
would  admit  it.  The  "practical  men,"  who  seem 
forever  on  the  throne,  know  very  well  that  beauty  is  only 
meant  for  lovers  and  young  persons — stuff  to  suckle 
fools  withal.  The  main  affair  of  life  is  to  get  the  dol- 
lar, and  if  there  is  any  money  in  cutting  the  throat 
of  beauty,  why,  by  all  means,  cut  her  throat.  That 
is  what  "practical  men"  have  been  doing  since  the 
world  began. 

— Dr.  John  C.  Van  Dyke. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CENSORED    NATURAL    HISTORY    NEWS 

THE  Ancients  went  in  strong  for  superstitions 
both  in  peace  and  war.  These  were  sup- 
posedly for  the  general  welfare.  The  pagan 
priests  in  power  during  the  closing  days  of  old 
Rome  are  said  never  to  have  met  without  laughing 
over  the  absurd  superstitions  which  they  were  per- 
petuating. But  one  of  the  greatest  victories  re- 
corded for  a  Roman  admiral  was  the  sinking  of  a 
superstition.  He  was  about  to  meet  the  fleet  of 
the  enemy  for  a  decisive  battle  when  the  sacred 
chickens  aboard  refused  to  eat.  This  bad  omen 
discouraged  the  superstitious  sailors,  and  even  the 
officers  were  losing  their  morale.  The  admiral, 
however,  promptly  threw  the  chickens  overboard, 
with  the  remark  that  perhaps  they  would  drink, 
and  proceeded  to  victory. 

A  story  of  modern  origin  and  common  circula- 
tion has  the  Bighorn  mountain  sheep  dive  over 
precipices  and  triumphantly  land  on  his  horns  at 
the  bottom.  But  the  Bighorn  does  not  know  tins 
story  and  the  plan  is  strange  to  him.  The  few 
sheep  that  may  have  tried  it  never  returned  to 
report  results. 

215 


216    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

Dall  DeWees,  the  world-wide  naturalist  and  hun- 
ter, has  another  sheep  story.  He  sat  behind  a  news- 
paper near  a  hotel  group  who  were  telling  hunting 
incidents  and  discussing  alleged  natural  history. 
It  was  too  much  for  him  when  someone  told  how  the 
Bighorn  mountain  sheep  use  their  horns  for  shock- 
absorbers.  He  quietly  interrupted  with :  "  Gentle- 
men, I  had  a  Bighorn  sheep  experience  near  my 
mountain  home.  Walking  along  the  bottom  of  the 
deep,  narrow  Arkansas  River  canon  one  day  a  few 
bits  of  granite  fell  at  my  feet.  I  saw  on  the  upper 
rim  a  number  of  mountain  sheep,  and  as  I  looked 
up  the  leader,  an  old  ram,  dived  over."  Here 
Dall  paused  and  someone  wanted  to  know  what 
became  of  the  sheep.  "Oh,"  said  Mr.  DeWees, 
"he  saw  me  and  turned  around  and  went  back." 

Without  a  knowledge  of  natural  history  a  per- 
son with  a  gun  is  likely  to  get  his  wild-life  classifica- 
tions wrong  and  take  a  shot  at  something  out  of 
season.  Once  I  was  quietly  watching  a  dignified 
social  gathering  of  pelicans  in  a  pond  when  a  hunter 
from  the  rear  took  a  crack  at  me.  He  made  haste 
to  apologize  with  the  explanation  that  he  mistook 
me  for  a  goose. 

Those  who  are  not  up  on  wilderness  etiquette 
have  gossiped  most  unfairly  about  the  skunk. 
First  of  all,  he  is  ever  ready  for  society,  his  company 
manners  in  constant  use — never  mislaid;  he  is  well 
groomed;  makes  no  advances  unless  introduced; 
and  he  meets  visitors  face  to  face.     The  skunk 


CENSORED  NATURAL  HISTORY  NEWS      217 

ever  acts  nicely  except  when  jostled;  the  intruder 
and  the  impolite  he  endeavours  to  sterilize  or 
screen  off  with  clean  chemical  spray. 

Every  wild  thing  under  the  sun  seems  to  have 
suffered  from  the  censorship  of  nature  news.  Geese 
are  supposed  to  be  stupid  and  loons  crazy,  but  both 
are  exceptionally  keen-witted.  The  misstatements 
from  which  they  and  the  skunk  suffer  satisfy  only 
the  censor  and  some  others. 

This  censorship  of  natural  history  news,  begun 
a  few  generations  ago,  has  developed  to  near 
exclusiveness  of  facts.  Those  censoring  appear 
wholly  unacquainted  with  their  subject,  and  there- 
fore are  qualified  by  censor  tests  to  give  the  public 
such  selected  nature  lore  as  it  can  be  trusted  to 
know  and  still  remain  loyal  to  public  institutions. 
A  Scottish  philosopher  once  said  that  history  is  a 
set  of  lies  agreed  upon.  Natural  history  as  it  is 
now  censored  is  an  excellent  example  of  the  stifling 
possibilities  of  censorship. 

A  number  of  people  in  California  and  Australia 
have  been  watching  for  a  frightened  ostrich  to  hide 
his  head  in  the  sand.  It  is  possible  that  a  mentally 
deranged  plume-bearer  may  yet  be  discovered  who 
will  do  this.  But  it  has  never  been  considered 
good  form  among  the  common  run  of  ostriches. 

Dan  Beard,  in  a  youthful  sketching  effort,  sat 
down  before  a  flock  of  Florida  ostriches.  They 
became  curious  at  his  general  appearance  and  con- 
centration  and   two   came   and   looked   over   his 


2i 8  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

shoulder.  He  has  never  exhibited  the  picture. 
Possibly  it  was  of  an  ostrich  hiding  its  lamps  un- 
gracefully in  a  bushel  of  sand.  Anyway,  they 
looked  and  were  agitated,  but,  instead  of  hiding 
their  heads,  chased  Dan  ingloriously  down  street; 
they  routed  him;  helmet  and  all  equipment  were 
thrown  away  to  aid  flight  for  safety  first.  Ever 
since  this  experience  Dan  Beard  has  done  pioneer 
work  in  natural  history  and  has  called  the  nature 
censor  everything  but  a  gentleman. 

Going  into  the  wild  places  is  too  often  considered 
akin  to  joining  the  suicide  club  because  wild  ani- 
mals are  thought  to  be  ferocious,  altitude  almost 
as  dangerous,  while  storms  and  lightning  make  the 
outdoors  a  continuous  battlefield.  Yet  the  wilder- 
ness is  the  safety  zone  of  the  world.  It  postpones 
the  death  of  practically  all  its  visitors. 

One  of  the  most  encouraging  and  significant  ten- 
dencies of  the  times  is  the  growing  distrust  of  the 
censor  of  natural  history  news.  He  is  becoming 
unpopular  and  may  have  to  take  to  the  woods  and 
learn  something.  People  are  responding  to  the  call 
of  the  wild.  In  increasing  numbers  they  are  going 
far  in  wild  places,  returning  one  hundred  per  cent 
fit  from  top  to  toe;  with  enthusiastic  morale  they 
condemn  the  molly-coddle  doctrine  and  the  evil 
propaganda  of  the  natural  history  censors. 

The  Boy  Scouts  and  the  Campfire  Girls  are 
endangering  the  natural  history  censor.  These 
healthy    youngsters    will    give    intelligent    deter- 


CENSORED  NATURAL  HISTORY  NEWS      219 

minism  to  future  natural  history.  Dragon-flies 
will  have  to  cease  being  "  Devil's  darning-needles/' 
toads  stop  producing  warts,  fuzz  will  have  to  func- 
tion otherwise  than  keeping  plants  warm  in  winter. 
If  one  beaver  colony  forecasts  a  hard  winter  and 
another  in  the  same  locality  plans  for  a  mild  one, 
both  will  be  allowed  to  do  so  uncensored,  and  if 
porcupines  go  about  the  woods  throwing  their 
quills  like  bushmen  their  boomerangs,  something 
will  happen  to  them,  too.  With  a  little  more  gen- 
eral acquaintance  with  wild  life  and  woodcraft 
there  will  be  an  open  season  on  censors. 

Prairie  dogs  live  in  arid  lands.  For  weeks  their 
only  water  is  that  from  plants  eaten.  There  is  a 
story  of  general  circulation  which  tells  that  prairie- 
dog  holes  go  down  to  water.  Oil  and  artesian 
wells  in  prairie-dog  towns  show  that  the  depth  to 
water  is  from  two  hundred  to  five  hundred  feet,  a 
depth  impossible  for  the  prairie  dog,  but  not  for  the 
story-teller.  Although,  too,  the  chief  concern  of 
Mrs.  Prairie  Dog  is  to  prevent  snakes  eating  her 
young,  the  story  goes  out  that  snakes,  prairie  dogs, 
and  owls  live  happily  in  the  same  hole. 

Roosevelt  has  commented  on  the  superstitions 
concerning  the  alleged  ferocity  of  American  ani- 
mals in  general  and  the  mountain  lion  in  particular. 
He  brought  forward  first-hand  experience  and  an 
array  of  competent  witnesses  to  show  that  the  lion 
or  puma  does  not  leap  from  tree  limbs  onto  people, 
that  it  is  an  extremely  shy  animal,  and  that  one 


22o  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

is  as  safe  sleeping  in  its  territory  as  among  tame 
cats;  and,  he  might  have  added,  much  less  likely 
to  be  disturbed. 

The  fear  of  snakes,  sharks,  and  devil-fish  probably 
has  sentenced  more  people  to  close  confinement 
than  is  commonly  known.  It  discourages  views 
afoot.  The  devil-fish  has  been  the  villain  of  ten 
thousand  adventure  stories,  yet  it  does  not  seek 
human  prey.  The  shark,  too,  is  a  magical  find  for 
many  an  inaccurate  scribbler. 

Snakes  are  not  so  big  nor  so  bad  nor  so  common 
as  nursery  news  proclaims.  There  are  two  evil 
and  impossible  snake  stories  that  appear  to  have 
circulated  for  generations  in  Asia,  Europe,  Africa, 
and  America.  At  present  they  are  infesting  the 
tourist  routes  in  South  America  as  thickly  as 
snakes  a  booze  nightmare.  One  of  these  stories 
has  a  snake  so  large  that  he  swallows  an  ox,  tail 
foremost,  and  comes  to  grief  when  the  long,  out- 
pointing horns  are  reached.  This  story  is  some- 
times varied  by  describing  a  snake  with  the  shoul- 
ders, body,  and  horns  of  an  ox,  and  a  tail  more  than 
one  hundred  feet  long.  The  most  stretched  snake 
skin  ever  exhibited  was  only  twenty-five  feet  long. 

Some  yeais  ago  an  alleged  sea  serpent — made 
in  Germany — was  exhibited  to  crowds  in  the  capi- 
tals of  Europe.  Taking  the  skull  of  one  and  most 
of  the  bones  of  several  ancient  Zeuglodons,  the  in- 
ventor multiplied  the  real  length  and  exhibited  the 
combination  as  one   114-foot  skeleton.     Sea  ser- 


CENSORED  NATURAL  HISTORY  NEWS      221 

pents,  if  they  ever  existed,  are  extinct;  but  the 
"Petrified  Man,"  too,  still  draws  crowds  although 
no  petrified  man  has  ever  been  discovered. 

The  wolves  of  the  United  States  have  not  been 
ferocious  for  generations,  if  ever  so.  Their  keen 
senses  are  ever  alert  to  avoid  coming  close  to  peo- 
ple and  in  keeping  out  of  sight.  Yet  a  number  of 
times  each  year  telegrams  appear  in  the  news- 
papers telling  of  an  attack  of  wolves  on  people. 
Such  accounts  discourage  outdoor  life  and  help  keep 
natural  history  safe  for  hypocrisy.  The  following 
was  printed  in  a  newspaper  in  February,  19 19: 

"  Wolves  are  attacking  children  on  their  way 
home  from  school  in  my  county  and  have  treed 
people,  keeping  them  in  trees  all  night.  .  .  . 
They  attack  men  and  are  killing  sheep,  cattle,  and 
hogs.  One  man  recently  saved  his  life  by  killing 
a  wolf  after  it  had  jumped  into  a  sleigh  in  which 
the  man  was  riding." 

The  cow  for  story  purposes  is  more  picturesque 
than  the  grizzly  bear.  How  interesting  it  might 
be  if  someone  would  write  a  story  of  the  capers  of 
a  cow  that  chased  strangers  up  trees  then  climbed 
after  them!  Such  a  story  might  be  justified  as  a 
work  of  art  and  the  author  honoured  as  a  clever 
entertainer,  but  the  fact  remains  that  neither  the 
cow  nor  the  grizzly  bear  climbs  trees. 

"Working  like  a  beaver"  is  a  proverb  sometimes 
applied  to  people,  with  compliment  intended.  It 
is  interpreted  to  mean  great  industry — working 


222  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

all  the  time  and  overtime  but  not  necessarily  ac- 
complishing anything  or  having  a  goal. 

The  life  of  the  beaver  is  rich  in  edifying  material, 
but  the  preachments  and  morals  concerning  his  life 
appear  to  have  been  made  mostly  by  censors  and 
professional  uplifters  without  the  golden  facts. 
Their  pointing  to  the  beaver  for  lessons  and  teach- 
ments  in  the  world  of  nature  would  not  be  so  bad 
if  they  called  attention  to  actualities.  The  beaver 
ever  has  a  purpose;  he  never  works  unless  he  has  to 
do  so,  this  is  possibly  one  day  out  of  seven;  he  is 
efficient;  and,  although  his  accomplishments  are 
monumental,  he  is  master  of  the  fine  art  of  rest. 

A  dozen  scouts  and  leader  camped  last  winter 
for  a  week  in  the  mountains.  They  tried  to  dis- 
cover what  the  ground-hog  did  on  Ground-hog  Day. 
Would  the  ground-hogs,  mindful  of  their  vast  re- 
sponsibilities, come  forth  or  thrust  out  their  heads 
to  announce  the  weather  for  the  next  sixty  days  ? 
The  scouts  were  in  the  woods  owned  by  the  father 
of  one  of  the  boys  who  knew  the  location  of  many 
ground-hog  holes.  Twelve  of  these  were  marked 
and  watched.  Four  holes  were  drifted  over,  sealed 
with  snow,  but  Mr.  Ground-hog  did  not  break  a  seal; 
five  others  were  partly  filled  with  snow,  but  evening 
came  and  this  snow  received  not  a  track,  the  hiber- 
nating hog  hibernated  on;  at  two  of  the  other  three 
holes  nothing  showed  up;  but  mid-afternoon,  cheer- 
ing in  the  direction  of  the  third  caused  twelve  scouts 
quickly  to  collect.     A  cotton-tail  rabbit  had  put  out 


CENSORED  NATURAL  HISTORY  NEWS      223 

his  head,  looked  toward  every  point  on  the  horizon 
and  at  the  sky,  and  then  had  gone  back!  For  these 
Boy  Scouts  the  weather  will  hereafter  have  to  be 
regulated  without  a  ground-hog.  Perhaps  some 
day  the  Scouts  will  look  into  prairie-dog  holes. 

The  object  of  the  censors  seems  to  have  been  to 
keep  people  indoors,  to  keep  them  from  knowing 
the  facts  about  natural  history  and  the  outdoors. 
It  is  but  little  less  than  a  crime  to  attempt  to  sup- 
press a  normal  child  who  has  become  restless 
through  indoor  life  by  telling  him  that  bears  eat 
bad  children.     Bears  never  eat  human  flesh. 

Nor  are  bears  ferocious.  Bears,  like  all  strong 
and  desirable  citizens,  are  constantly  assailed  with 
attempts  at  character  assassination.  People  who 
are  constantly  maligning  the  bear  probably  do  not 
have  anything  against  him  but  he  simply  is  their 
favourite  factor  for  trying  to  accomplish  a  purpose 
through  fear.  They  believe  that  people  can  be 
frightened  into  doing  what  indoor  folk  consider 
good,  like  staying  indoors  and  other  debatable  con- 
ventions. Punishments  and  threats  were  in  vogue 
during  the  Dark  Ages,  when  education  was  dis- 
counted and  kings  and  powers-that-be  sought  ser- 
vice and  servility. 

However,  there  appears  to  be  an  open  season  on 
superstitions.  Ghosts  are  almost  exterminated. 
Witches  on  broomsticks  will  need  to  watch  their 
way  where  Liberty  Motors  fly.  Many  alleged 
man-eating   monsters    and    monstrosities    are    al- 


224  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

ready  as  dead  as  Dinosaurs.  The  increasing  num- 
bers of  wild-life  reservations  and  the  enlarged 
numbers  of  people  who  have  met  bears  and  wolves 
face  to  face  will,  ere  long,  cast  animal  superstitions 
and  the  divine  right  of  kings  into  the  scrap  heap  of 
models  that  have  had  their  day. 

Many  wild  animals  appear  to  have  courage,  con- 
science, and  common  sense.  Often  they  triumph 
over  the  unexpected,  quickly  they  readjust  to  new 
conditions,  sometimes  they  welcome  reform,  and 
often  they  cooperate  and  combine  for  the  general 
welfare. 

Why  make  the  wilderness  a  fearful  place,  full  of 
ferocious  beasts  and  dangerous  forces?  No  na- 
tion has  fallen  for  fostering  outdoor  life.  Indoor 
excesses  have  covered  the  outdoors  with  supersti- 
tions and  closed  doors  against  the  enjoyment  of 
invigorating  storms  and  snows.  Every  season 
has  its  advantages.  Forgetting  that  change  and 
winter  of  temperate  zone  gave  vigour  and  courage 
to  the  race,  the  exclusive  indoor  peoples  have 
missed  and  lost  much  that  is  good.  The  changes 
that  challenge  and  compel  growth  and  keep  us  fit 
and  growing,  these  give  the  required  and  necessary 
morale  for  those  in  life's  front  ranks.  At  times  the 
Old  Acquaintance  has  been  stern,  but  it  raised 
and  conducted  our  distinguished  ancestors  to  us, 
and  for  those  who  don't  forget  there  is  renewed 
health  and  hope — the  world  is  young  once  more. 

The  wild  wonderlands  give  to  every  child  that 


"■^K 

95  K ;  '"    **^ 

m6          sb^.  \ 

[ 

1 

t    ■          H^^^^ 

'lialr 

1 .« 

t*> 

CENSORED  NATURAL  HISTORY  NEWS      225 

guiding  and  glorious  light — imagination.  Wild 
nature  is  the  child's  greatest  heritage.  Unfortu- 
nately superstition  and  system  do  not  know  this 
shining  heritage  and  this  wondrous  light  many  a 
child  will  never  see. 

"  Mother,5'  said  a  small  boy,  as  they  stood  before 
the  leopard's  cage,  "how  can  that  animal  afford 
a  coat  like  yours?" 

This  childish  remark  is  akin  to  the  lofty  conde- 
scension sometimes  observed  in  the  comments 
concerning  the  rural  population.  People,  without 
knowledge,  allege  inferiority  in  rural  folk.  Coun- 
try folk  and  the  farmer  are  thought  to  be  in  need  of 
uplift  and  old  magazines. 

Many  wilderness  camping  places  are  devastated 
as  though  by  war.  Trees  are  burned  and  hacked, 
birds  shot  and  frightened,  and  wild  flowers  up- 
rooted. These  atrocities  are  committed  by  those 
who  have  a  low  estimate  of  poetic  wild  nature,  of 
everything  and  everybody  beyond  the  city  limits. 
But  these  people  are  not  to  blame.  Their  early 
nature  information  was  mis-information.  The 
Scouts  are  already  showing  that  nature  censorship 
is  in  Class  A  of  non-essentials. 

Much  of  Roosevelt's  power  came  from  early— 
that  is,  correct — acquaintance  with  nature;  it  fur- 
nished him  recreation  and  enjoyment  and  effi- 
ciency; and  it  also  stored  his  mind  with  inside  facts 
which  ever  were  helpful  in  making  the  right  deci- 
sion and  in  getting  results. 


226    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

Some  years  ago  a  lumber  company  endeavoured 
to  acquire  a  large  block  of  timberland  from  the 
Government.  President  Roosevelt,  doubting  either 
the  correctness  of  the  representations  of  the  com 
pany  concerning  the  character  of  the  timber,  oi 
desiring  to  reserve  the  area,  denied  the  application. 
Later  he  re-opened  the  case  and  the  manager 
the  company  came  on  for  the  final  statement. 
During  the  discussion  the  manager  exhibited  photo- 
graphs alleged  to  be  of  the  tract  in  question. 

The  leading  photograph  was  marked:  "Engel- 
mann  spruce  on  southern  slope  of  Granite  Moun- 
tain, altitude  7,000  feet."  Roosevelt  at  once 
asked  concerning  the  accuracy  of  the  legend.  The 
manager  doubly  assured  him  of  its  absolute  ac- 
curacy. Roosevelt  knew  spruce  and  other  tree 
habits  and  habitats  in  the  locality  represented,  and 
realized  that  the  Engelmann  spruce  was  found 
mostly  on  cool  northern  not  warm  southern  slopes 
and  at  an  altitude  of  9,000  feet  or  more,  and  not' 
as  the  legend  said,  at  7,000  feet. 

People  are  made  in  their  leisure  hours.  It  is 
insidious  enemy  propaganda  which  discourages  the 
best  use  of  leisure  hours— outdoor  exercise— and 
encourages  indoor  functions  as  the  conventional 
thing.  Functions  have  been  tried  by  many  people 
who  have  ceased  to  be  fit,  to  have  morale;  and  by 
many  a  nation  which  no  longer  has  a  place  in  the 


sun. 


ke 

er 
& 

i 
to 
m 


AMERICAN  schools  have,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
failed  to  train  the  great  mass  of  the  children  for 
successful  earning  of  a  livelihood  in  the  American 
world  oj  to-day,  and  at  the  same  time  they  have  failed, 
for  the  most  part,  to  inspire  the  children  with  the 
tastes,  ambitions,  and  aspirations  which  woidd  guide 
them  to  a  sensible  and  enjoyable  use  of  their  leisure. 
— Dr.  Charles  W.  Eliot. 


CHAPTER  XV 

HARRIET — LITTLE    MOUNTAIN   CLIMBER 

LITTLE  Harriet  Peters,  a  six-year-old  friend 
of  mine,  was  listening  intently  to  the  com- 
ments  of  the  climbers  whom  I  had  just 
guided  to  the  summit  of  Long's  Peak.  They  were 
describing  their  trip  to  a  number  of  others.  Pres- 
ently Harriet  turned  to  me  and  asked  what  birds 
and  animals  lived  on  the  top  of  this  high  peak  of 
the  Rockies. 

Often  I  had  been  asked  what  could  be  seen  from 
the  top  of  the  Peak;  many  people  were  curious 
about  the  size  of  the  summit;  most  interested  climb- 
ers wanted  to  know  how  long  it  took  to  go  up  and 
back;  but  never  before  had  any  one  asked  what 
lived  there. 

When  the  mountain-climbing  discussion  ended 
this  little  girl  very  soberly  asked  if  I  would  some 
time  take  her  to  the  top  of  Long's  Peak. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "just  as  soon  as  we  feel  that  you 
can  go  up  and  back  easily.  It  is  a  long,  steep 
climb." 

Then  she  wanted  to  know:  "Is  it  uphill  all  the 
way?" 

I  had  early  become  interested  in  Harriet,  she 

229 


230    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

was  so  alert,  so  quiet,  and  always  so  cheerful  and 
wide  awake.  She  often  went  off  alone  to  climb 
the  near-by  trails,  or  for  a  ride  on  her  burro.  Of 
course  she  enjoyed  playing  with  other  children. 
Though  she  had  never  been  to  school  she  had 
learned  to  read,  and  every  day  out  of  doors  she 
appeared  to  be  learning  new  things. 

She  was  constantly  surprising  me  by  asking  a 
lively  and  original  question  which  showed  that 
she  saw  many  of  the  interesting  things  around  her 
and  wondered  about  them. 

"How  do  beavers  sharpen  their  teeth?"  she 
asked  one  day.  We  had  returned  a  few  hours  be- 
fore from  a  visit  to  a  beaver  colony,  where  we 
had  seen  a  number  of  large,  dead  trees  whose  hard 
wood  showed  the  marks  of  the  beavers'  gnawing. 

Harriet  really  wanted  to  get  on  top  of  Long's 
Peak;  she  was  curiously,  thoughtfully  interested 
in  the  things  to  be  seen  on  the  summit  of  this 
rocky,  snowy  landmark  that  towered  so  grandly 
14,255  feet  into  the  sky.  Although  I  had  never 
taken  anyone  so  young  I  was  eager  to  go  up  with  her. 

One  autumn  day,  just  after  Harriet  was  eight 
years  of  age,  we  went  up.  We  started  off  on 
horseback.  The  trail  begins  in  a  mountain  valley, 
9,000  feet  above  sea  level.  The  Peak  rises  in  the 
sky  one  mile  higher.  After  galloping  a  short  dis- 
tance we  walked  our  ponies  so  that  they  might 
breathe  for  a  stretch  before  taking  another  gallop. 
Harriet  wanted  to  know  why  it  was  we  slowed 


HARRIET— LITTLE  MOUNTAIN  CLIMBER   231 

down  when  we  might  have  galloped  to  the  steeper 
part  of  the  trail.  Why  I  tightened  the  saddle 
cinches  also  called  for  an  explanation. 

"A  person  who  walks  with  a  loose  shoe  receives 
a  blistered  foot,  and  a  horse  ridden  with  a  loose 
saddle  receives  a  blistered  back,"  I  told  her. 

Most  of  the  time  Harriet  was  silent,  observing, 
and  thoughtful,  but  occasionally  she  asked  a  defi- 
nite question  about  the  things  near  by.  She  was 
interested  in  the  new  and  unusual  objects  along 
the  way.  The  lodgepole  pine,  perhaps  because 
of  its  name,  caused  her  to  ask  many  questions. 
She  wanted  to  know  if  Arkansas  pine,  such  trees  as 
she  saw  in  her  Arkansas  home,  also  lived  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  She  asked  the  name  of  the 
trees  growing  in  groups  near  the  lively  brook  along 
which  we  were  riding.  These  were  young  balsam 
fir  trees  and  the  purple  cones  that  stood  upon  the 
topmost  limbs  not  far  above  her  head  attracted 
her  attention. 

She  had  remembered  hearing  that  up  the  moun- 
tain-side there  were  species  of  trees  that  did  not 
live  in  the  valley,  and  that  at  the  timberline,  where 
the  forest  edge  is  farthest  up  the  mountain,  lived 
still  other  kinds  of  trees.  While  travelling  west- 
ward in  a  canon  I  pointed  out  the  scattered  limber 
pines  growing  on  the  north  wall,  in  the  sun,  and 
the  dense,  tall  growth  of  Engelmann  spruce  on  the 
shady,  opposite  wall.  She  was  interested  that 
these  two  kinds  of  trees  were  living  so  close  to- 


232  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

gether,  and  yet  one  species  kept  on  the  warmer, 
drier  side  of  the  canon  and  the  other  on  the  cooler, 
moister  slope,  while  the  firs  grew  only  along  the 
stream. 

We  saw  a  number  of  chipmunks  eating  the  scar- 
let berries  of  the  low-growing  kinnikinick.  They 
allowed  us  to  ride  close  to  them,  and  appeared  so 
tame  that  Harriet  asked: 

"  If  we  had  time  to  stop  would  they  let  me  play 
with  them  like  the  chipmunks  around  your  cabin?" 

The  night  before  had  been  stormy  on  the  upper 
mountain  slopes.  Harriet  was  surprised  that  there 
were  a  few  inches  of  snow  here  and  none  down 
below.  She  was  riding  ahead  that  she  might  better 
see  the  fresh  tracks  of  the  birds  and  animals  in  the 
trail.  There  were  many  rabbit  tracks  clean-cut 
and  splashed.  It  looked  as  though  they  had  had 
a  game.  Suddenly  my  pony  bumped  into  Har- 
riet's who  had  stopped  and  turned  to  ask: 

"Have  some  bare-footed  children  and  their 
mother  been  up  the  trail  this  morning  ?" 

A  line  of  big  tracks  came  out  of  the  woods  on  the 
left  and  followed  the  trail  up  the  mountain,.  How 
strangely  like  the  tracks  of  bare-footed  children 
and  an  old  person;  the  tracks  of  a  mother  bear  and 
two  cubs!  Slowly,  quietly,  not  even  whispering, 
we  rode  up  the  mountain  hoping  to  see  them.  We 
were  scolded  by  a  pine  squirrel  for  moving  so 
cautiously.  We  saw  where  the  bears  had  eaten 
blueberries  in  the  snow;  but  there  were  no  bears. 


HARRIET— LITTLE  MOUNTAIN  CLIMBER   233 

At  timberline,  11,000  feet  above  sea  level,  all 
of  the  trees  were  small;  yet  they  did  not  look  like- 
young  trees,  but  appeared  aged,  storm-beaten, 
and  strange.  Many  of  them  really  were  hundreds 
of  years  old,  yet  so  tiny  that  Harriet  could  reach 
to  the  top  of  them.  Many  were  not  so  tall  as  she. 

"My  doll  would  like  to  climb  them  but  they  are 
too  small  for  me  to  climb,"  she  said. 

We  tied  our  ponies  and  1  ambled  along  this 
strange  edge  of  the  forest.  There  were  pines,  firs, 
spruces,  dwarfed  birch  and  aspen,  and  Arctic  willow. 

"Why/''  Harriet  asked,  "do  these  little  people 
live  up  here  on  the  cold  mountain-side ?" 

Magpies,  camp-birds,  and  Clarke's  nutcrackers 
were  numerous,  having  a  nutting  picnic.  All  were 
having  great  fun,  but  the  nutcrackers  were  getting 
most  of  the  nuts,  pecking  holes  in  the  pine  cones,  and 
busily  eating  the  large,  almost  ripened  fruit,  and 
calling  noisily.  One  of  the  camp-birds  alighted 
upon  Harriet's  shoulder,  curious  to  know  if  she  had 
something  for  him  to  eat.  They  are  perhaps  the 
most  sociable  and  the  best-known  birds  in  the  west- 
ern mountains. 

About  nine  o'clock  the  sun  came  out  and  the 
snow  began  to  melt.  The  remainder  of  the  day 
was  calm  and  warm.  No  air  stirred.  On  the 
Arctic  moorlands  above  the  timber  line  we  watched 
carefully,  hoping  to  see  the  Bighorn.  We  did  not 
see  even  the  track  of  one.  But  we  came  upon  a 
flock  of  ptarmigan.     These  birds  had  already  laid 


234  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

off  most  of  their  light  brown  summer  clothes  and 
were  dressed  in  almost  pure  white. 

The  last  three  miles  of  the  seven  steep,  winding 
miles  to  the  summit  are  entirely  above  the  limits 
of  tree  growth,  among  rocky  crags  and  old  snow- 
fields,  with  most  of  the  trail  over  either  solid  or 
broken  rock. 

On  Boulderfield,  five  miles  from  our  starting 
point,  we  tied  our  ponies  to  rocks  in  the  shelter  of 
large  boulders  and  continued  upward  on  foot. 
Harriet  was  a  sure-footed  climber.  As  we  started 
across  this  mile  stretch  of  glacial  moraine  I  told  her 
that  expert  mountaineers  travel  slowly,  always 
look  before  making  a  step,  and  stop  for  talking  or 
looking  around.  Occasionally  we  rested,  and  some- 
times we  lay  down  upon  a  flat  boulder  and  thor- 
oughly relaxed. 

At  about  13,000  feet,  while  we  were  thus  resting, 
there  came  a  strange,  chirpy  squeak.  Harriet 
heard  it  repeated  a  number  of  times  before  asking 
what  it  was.  Presently  a  little  animal  resembling 
a  rabbit  somewhat,  but  more  nearly  like  a  guinea 
pig,  ran  in  front  of  us,  carrying  in  its  mouth  a  few 
blades  of  coarse  grass  and  one  or  two  tiny  Arctic 
plants.     It  was  the  mountain  cony. 

"Was  he  squealing  because  something  bit  his 
ears  off?"  Harriet  asked.  The  cony's  short  ears 
do  appear  as  though  clipped. 

I  told  her  that  the  cony  is  called  the  "  hay- 
maker of  the  heights";  each  autumn  he  gathers 


HARRIET— LITTLE  MOUNTAIN  CLIMBER   235 

small  haycocks  of  plants  and  stores  them  among 
the  boulders  for  his  winter  food. 

"Why  doesn't  he  go  down  the  mountain  and  live 
by  the  brook  where  there  is  more  hay?"  was  an- 
other question  that  I  could  not  answer. 

About  a  thousand  feet  below  the  top  of  the  Peak 
we  turned  aside  for  a  drink  from  a  tiny  spring,  the 
last  water  on  the  way  up.  Here  we  lingered  several 
minutes.  Harriet  gathered  a  double  handful  of 
snow  and  carried  it  to  the  spring  that  she  might 
send  more  water  down  the  Mississippi  to  New 
Orleans.  Then  of  the  wet  snow  she  made  a  dam 
on  the  rocks  where  the  water  flowed  from  the 
spring. 

Leaving  this  place  we  did  steep  rock  climbing 
over  a  few  hundred  feet  to  the  Narrows.  In 
places  Harriet  walked  in  front  of  me;  but  most  of 
the  time  she  was  behind,  and  always  close.  By 
listening  carefully  I  could  tell  that  all  was  well  with 
her  without  looking  back.  At  no  time  were  we 
roped  together.  In  a  few  places  I  helped  her,  but 
most  of  the  time  she  walked  alone. 

A  few  snow-drifts  and  ice-piles  remain  on  the 
head  and  shoulders  of  the  Peak  all  summer.  The 
upper  two  thousand  feet  is  almost  solid  rock;  there 
are  cracks,  ledges,  and  shattered  places,  with  a  pin- 
nacle and  shattered  rock  around  its  base.  Here 
and  there  was  a  beauty  spot — a  tiny  bed  of  soil 
covered  with  grass  and  flowers  in  the  midst  of 
rocky  barrenness. 


236  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

From  the  Narrows,  a  little  below  the  summit, 
we  saw  two  eagles  soaring  and  circling  about  in 
the  air  two  or  three  thousand  feet  above  us.  A 
few  times  their  shadows  dashed  by  us.  The  Nar- 
rows is  a  ledge,  a  shelf-like  stretch  of  the  trail, 
on  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  There  is  no  banister 
here,  but  one  is  needed.  Many  grown  people 
have  stopped  at  this  point,  but  Harriet  walked 
across  without  saying  a  word. 

Up  the  "Home  stretch" — the  last  climb  to  the 
top — the  slope  is  extremely  steep  and  the  rock 
solid.  Here  many  people  call  out  "  safety  first " 
and  go  up  on  all  fours,  but  Harriet,  who  was  in 
front  of  me,  walked  up  swinging  her  arms  and  hum- 
ming softly  to  herself. 

We  arrived  at  the  summit  of  the  Peak  a  little 
after  twelve  o'clock,  five  hours  from  the  time  we 
started.  The  broken  summit  surface  is  nearly 
level,  and  strewn  with  slabs  and  angular  chunks 
of  pink  granite,  from  sand  and  coarse  gravel  up  to 
blocks  several  feet  across.  The  instant  we  stepped 
on  the  top  I  said  to  Harriet: 

"  Now  you  are  here,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ? " 

She  stood  for  nearly  a  minute  looking  around 
without  saying  a  word,  then  asked: 

"Where  did  all  the  rocks  come  from?" 

Harriet  was  surprised  to  find  the  top  so  large. 
There  was  just  about  room  to  give  all  the  players 
in  a  baseball  game  a  place  to  stand,  with  the  bat- 
ter, first  baseman,  and  out-fielders  all  standing  on 


HARRIET— LITTLE  MOUNTAIN  CLIMBER   237 

the  edge.  We  walked  around  the  top,  keeping 
close  to  the  edge.  In  most  places  it  dropped  off 
steeply  for  a  hundred  feet.  The  east  side  is  a  per- 
pendicular wall  more  than  a  thousand  feet  high. 
There  were  many  cracked  and  loose  stones  on  the 
edge;  many  were  almost  ready  to  fall  overboard, 
as  numerous  others  had  already  done.  Plainly 
the  top  of  the  Peak  had  once  been  much  larger. 
Just  as  we  were  sitting  down  to  eat  our  lunch  Har- 
riet asked: 

"How  big  was  the  top  once?" 

We  sat  in  a  safe  place  near  the  edge  of  a  precipice 
where  we  could  look  down  into  Chasm  Lake — a 
glacier-made  basin — 2,000  feet  below  us.  The 
water,  though  clear,  appeared  as  green  as  any  emer- 
ald ink  you  have  ever  seen. 

A  half-tamed  ground-hog,  that  in  summer  lived 
upon  the  summit,  came  forth  to  have  scraps  of  our 
lunch.  A  flock  of  rosy  finches  alighted  near  us. 
A  humming-bird  flew  over  without  stopping.  A 
number  of  butterflies  circled  about  in  the  calm, 
sunny  air.  Harriet  asked  if  there  were  always  the 
same  animals  on  the  summit.  I  told  her  I  had 
seen  Bighorn  sheep  tracks  and  mountain  lion  tracks 
there.  Just  once — when  I  was  up  with  another 
little  girl — I  had  seen  a  cotton-tail  rabbit  on  the  top, 
but  I  could  not  understand  how  he  came  to  be 
there.  Blue-birds,  robins,  ptarmigan,  eagles,  and 
weasels  sometimes  come  to  the  summit. 

We  looked  at  the  many-coloured  lichens  upon  the 


23 8    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

rocks  and  at  the  green  leaves  of  the  purple  primrose 
and  the  stalks  of  the  yellow  avens.  They  were 
growing  in  little  patches  of  sand  between  rock 
slabs.  Harriet  asked  where  the  plants  and  the 
mountain-top  birds  came  from.  I  told  her  that  a 
number  of  the  same  plants  and  animals  were  found 
in  the  far  north  around  the  Arctic  Circle.  At  one 
time,  many  thousand  years  before,  the  Ice  King 
had  sent  his  glaciers  a  few  thousand  miles  from  the 
north,  driving  Arctic  plants  down  on  the  moving 
ice  and  ptarmigan  in  front  of  it.  These  plants  and 
birds  had  made  their  home  on  the  mountain  tops 
and  remained  after  the  ice  melted  away. 

Harriet's  aunt  had  told  her  that  the  Alps  are 
much  colder  and  snowier  than  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. No  one  lives  as  high  in  the  Alps  as  the 
mountain  valley  where  we  were  living;  timber- 
line — the  forest  edge — is  at  6,500  feet  there,  and 
no  plants  or  birds  live  above  the  altitude  of  9,000 
feet. 

As  we  stood  for  a  moment  before  beginning  the 
descent  Harriet  turned  and  looked  silently  at  the 
far-distant,  magnificent  views  to  the  north,  south, 
east,  and  west.  Not  a  question  was  asked  and  I 
have  often  wondered  what  impression  they  made 
upon  her. 

After  having  a  little  more  than  an  hour  on  the 
top  of  the  Peak  we  started  slowly  homeward.  When 
a  little  below  the  altitude  of  12,000  feet  we  dis- 
mounted and  searched  among  the  boulders  for  the 


HARRIET— LITTLE  MOUNTAIN  CLIMBER   239 

columbine.  Luckily  we  found  a  beautiful  speci- 
men with  its  silver  and  blue  petals  waving  on  a 
slender  stalk  that  stood  several  inches  higher  than 
Harriet's  head.  The  columbine  is  the  state  flower 
of  Colorado,  having  been  selected  by  a  majority 
vote  of  the  school  children,  and  is  mentioned  for 
our  national  flower. 

Harriet  looked  again  and  again  at  the  strange 
little  trees  at  timberline  and  watched  eagerly  for 
the  bears.  We  talked  about  the  things  we  had 
seen.  She  asked  many  questions  about  the  trips 
other  climbers  had  made,  and  I  told  her  of  ex- 
periences on  rainy  days,  on  snowy  days,  and  on 
wintry  days.  She  was  most  interested  in  mv 
moonlight  climbs  and  wished  she  might  some  time 
go  up  at  night. 

Of  the  two  hundred  and  fifty-odd  trips  which 
I  made  as  a  guide  to  the  summit  of  this  great  old 
Peak,  the  trip  with  Harriet  is  the  one  I  like  best 
to  recall;  and  I  am  sure,  too,  should  Harriet  live 
three  score  and  ten  years  she  will  remember  the 
day  of  her  successful  climb  to  the  summit  of  Long's 
Peak. 

This  climb,  as  I  remember,  was  in  September, 
1905.  Some  years  later  I  heard  that  Harriet  was 
graduated  from  a  girls'  college  in  Texas.  I  often 
wonder  what  has  become  of  her. 


THREE  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower. 
When  Nature  said,  "A  lovelier  flower 

On  earth  was  never  sown: 
This  child  I  to  myself  will  take: 
She  will  be  mine,  and  I  will  make 

A  lady  of  my  own. 

"Myself  will  to  my  darling  be, 
Both  law  and  impulse;  And  with  me 

The  girl,  in  rock  and  plain, 
In  earth  and  heaven,  in  glade  and  bower, 
Shall  feel  an  overseeing  power, 

To  kindle  or  restrain. 

"She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  fawn 
That  wild  with  glee  across  the  lawn, 

Or  up  the  mountain  springs. 
And  hers  shall  be  the  breathing  balm, 
And  hers  the  silence  and  the  calm 

Of  mute,  insensate  things. 

"The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend 
To  her:  For  her  the  willow  bend; 

Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see 
Even  in  the  motions  of  the  storm 
Grace  that  shall  mould  the  maiden  s form 

By  silent  sympathy. 

"The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 
To  her:  And  she  shall  lend  her  ear 

In  many  a  secret  place 
Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 
And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 

Shall  pass  into  her  face." 

— Wordsworth. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NATURE    GUIDING 

THE  primeval  guide  led  his  followers  along  the 
dim,  wild-life  trail  marked  by  hoof  and  claw. 
Primitive  folk  needed  to  find  the  way  back 
to  camp  and  to  lead  their  associates  to  a  discovered 
feast.  Woodlore  and  the  peculiar  alertness  which 
commonly  goes  with  it  made  every  Indian  a  born 
guide.  The  Indian  took  reckonings  as  he  moved, 
and  once  over  a  route  he  knew  its  landmarks  and 
its  resources.  Lewis  and  Clark  in  two  emergen- 
cies were  guided  by  Sacajawea,  a  sixteen-year-old 
Indian  girl,  who  might  be  called  a  nature  guide. 
Her  mastery  of  the  outdoors  enabled  her  to  lead  the 
exploring  party  across  the  Rocky  Mountains  to 
places  where  she  had  not  been  before.  Kit  Carson 
and  John  Colter  were  excellent  guides.  Guides  have 
encouraged  people  to  go  into  new  fields,  among 
new  scenes,  to  advance,  to  get  somewhere. 

MacMillan,  in  "Four  Years  in  the  White 
North,"  tells  of  a  rare  incident  which  illustrates 
the  mastership  of  man  over  the  obstacles  of  nature 
and  the  ability  to  use  its  resources.  The  ther- 
mometer was  thirty-six  below,  and  a  blizzard  had 
been  roaring  for  hours  when  several  sledge  loads  of 

243 


244    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

Eskimos  pulled  up  merrily  in  front  of  MacMillan's 
camp.  The  Eskimos  were  bound  for  two  or  three 
days'  journey  into  the  North,  where  they  hoped 
to  live  off  the  country,  and  carried  only  a  few  pounds 
of  food  and  a  little  oil  upon  their  sledges.  "They 
were  real  explorers,"  remarks  MacMillan. 

The  nature  guide  finds  treasures  to  right  and  left 
for  his  followers  in  territory  which  to  most  people 
appears  barren. 

The  mention  of  a  guide  usually  suggests  an 
expert  alpine  or  Canadian  peak  climber,  a 
hunting  guide  in  the  North,  the  West,  or  Africa; 
an  individual  who  can  ride,  shoot,  cook  a  meal, 
pack  a  horse,  and  guide  a  hunting  party  to  its 
goal. 

Swiss  guides  are  justly  famous  for  their  skill  and 
their  bravery  on  icy,  storm-swept  precipices  and 
for  their  patience  and  endurance  in  overcoming  the 
dangers  and  obstacles  that  beset  the  way  of  those 
who  climb  into  the  sky.  Only  a  few  people  are 
physically  fitted  to  follow  the  Swiss  guide,  and  on 
the  whole,  peak  climbing  is  a  physical  triumph. 
It  is  well  worth  while  and  is  certain  to  continue. 
But  nature  guides  offer  natural  history  excursions 
more  intellectual  in  their  nature  which  may  be  en- 
joyed by  almost  everyone. 

Natural  history  has  been  incidental  to  all  pre- 
vious types  of  guides,  while  to  the  nature  guide  it  is 
the  essential  feature  of  every  trip.  The  hunter's 
chief  aim  is  to  find  and  kill  the  bear,  while  that  of 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  NATURE  GUIDING    245 

the  nature  guide  is  to  watch  the  ways  of  the  hear 
and  to  enjoy  him. 

Some  years  ago  in  an  editorial  story  in  Country 
Life  in  America  I  called  attention  to  our  need  of 
outdoor  guides  capable  of  arousing  more  interest 
in  natural  history.  In  1916  I  discussed  the  same 
idea,  "Guides  Wanted,"  in  the  Saturday  Evening 
Post.  The  type  of  guide  wanted  is  the  nature 
guide.  Nature  guides  are  still  needed  but  as  yet 
there  is  no  regular  place  for  this  training.  While 
I  have  trained  a  few  nature  guides  there  appears 
to  be  a  need  for  a  State  University  or  a  Founda- 
tion regularly  to  develop  nature  guides. 

It  is  probable  that  nature  guiding  will  become  a 
nation-wide  and  distinct  profession,  and,  though 
different,  rank  with  the  occupations  of  authors  and 
lecturers. 

A  nature  guide  is  a  naturalist  who  can  guide 
others  to  the  secrets  of  nature.  Every  plant  and 
animal,  every  stream  and  stone,  has  a  number  oi 
fascinating  facts  associated  with  it  and  about  each 
there  are  numberless  stories.  Beavers  build  houses, 
bears  play,  birds  have  a  summer  and  a  winter  home 
thousands  of  miles  apart,  flowers  have  colour  and 
perfume — every  species  of  life  is  fitted  for  a  peculiar 
life  zone.  The  why  of  these  things,  how  all  came 
about,  are  of  interest.  Touched  by  a  nature  guide 
the  wilderness  of  the  outdoors  becomes  a  wonder- 
land. Then,  ever  after,  wherever  one  goes  afield  he 
enjoys   the   poetry   of  nature.     This   wonderland 


246    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

may  be  enjoyed  around  the  world,  forever.  Wild 
birds  sing,  wild  flowers  bloom  wherever  streams  ebb 
upon  the  sand  or  the  seasons  show  their  pictures. 

Almost  every  locality  has  its  old  tree,  its  rare 
plant,  its  striking  bit  of  geology.  What  natural 
history  treasures  are  in  the  wild  places  of  your 
locality?  It  would  be  a  happy  experience  for  any 
individual,  either  alone  or  with  others,  to  make  a 
nature  survey  of  his  locality  with  the  idea  of  doing 
nature  guiding  or  trail  school  work. 

During  each  summer  vacation  a  number  of  in- 
dividuals are  enriching  their  lives  by  getting  in- 
timately acquainted  with  the  birds,  animals,  and 
trees  of  the  locality  visited.  A  nature  guide  in 
every  locality  who  around  his  home  or  in  the  near- 
est park  could  show  with  fitting  stories  the  wild 
places,  birds,  flowers,  and  animals,  would  add  to 
the  enjoyment  of  everyone  who  lives  in  the  region 
or  who  visits  it. 

Before  we  realize  it  there  will  be  municipal  and 
private  nature  guides  in  every  city  park;  official 
and  private  nature  guides  in  state  parks  and  in 
the  national  parks.  Nature  guiding  is  a  splendid 
opportunity  for  young  men  and  young  women.  It 
is  a  worth-while  life  work  and  one  that  will  add 
immeasurably  to  the  general  welfare  of  the  nation. 

We  have  been  practising,  first  alone  then  with 
assistance,  the  principles  of  nature  guiding  for 
some  years  in  what  is  now  the  Rocky  Mountain 
National  Park.   We  hear  that  here  are  plans  to  use 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  NATURE  GUIDING    247 

some  form  of  nature  guiding  in  both  the  Yosemite 
National  Park  and  the  Palisades  Interstate  Park. 

The  following  slogans  have  grown  out  of  our  ap- 
plications of  nature  guiding  at  Long's  Peak,  Colo- 
rado. They  have  interested  many  people  and 
have  helped  extend  the  idea: 

A  child  learns  only  when  he  is  thinking,  and  na- 
ture's wonders  compel  him  to  think. 

Every  child  asks  questions.  The  nature  guide 
answers  questions  intelligently  and  thereby  brings 
forth  other  intelligent  questions. 

A  nature  room  in  every  home  containing  photo- 
graphs, nature  books,  and  geological  specimens. 
This  would  be  a  help  in  education. 

Adventure  for  old  and  young — trail  schools. 

Trail  schools  always  in  session:  day  and  night, 
summer  and  winter,  rain  and  shine. 

Trail  schools  train  the  senses.  "The  most  im- 
portant part  of  education  has  always  been  through 
the  senses." — Dr.  Charles  Eliot. 

Entertain  your  guests  at  home  by  a  trip  with  a 
nature  guide. 

Boost  for  trail  schools  in  every  city  park. 

The  few  high-class  nature  guides  whom  I  have 
known  had  versatility  and  a  background.  They 
were  not  only  masters  of  their  own  localities  but 
had  a  good  knowledge  of  the  whole  outdoors.  They 
had  camped  and  could  tell  others  how  to  camp; 


248  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

had  the  resourcefulness  to  appreciate  nature  under 
all  conditions — moonlight  and  starlight,  in  rain 
and  snow — and  could  impart  that  pleasure  to 
others;  were  masters  of  woodcraft— knew  how  to 
build  and  to  extinguish  a  camp-fire  and  how  to 
select  a  camp  site;  understood  horses  and  the  pack- 
ing of  a  pack  horse.  The  ways  and  means  of  mak- 
ing their  parties  safe  and  comfortable,  their  knowl- 
edge of  first  aid,  their  vigilance  in  prevention  of 
accidents,  and  their  mastery  of  the  trail,  all  became 
so  much  a  matter  of  second  nature  that  they  were 
able  to  give  all  thought  and  energy  to  interesting 
their  people  in  the  natural  history  features.  They 
had  a  quick  eye  for  the  interesting,  the  unusual, 
and  the  beautiful;  they  could  use  a  camera. 

The  nature  guide  who  understands  human  na- 
ture and  possesses  tact  and  ingenuity  is  able  to  hold 
divergent  interests  and  scattering  members  of  his 
party  together.  He  appreciates,  too,  the  eloquence 
of  silence  and  is  skilful  in  controlling,  directing,  and 
diverting  the  conversation  of  members  of  his  party 
lest  the  beauty  of  the  outdoors  be  marred  by  lack 
of  discrimination  of  some  one.  He  is  master  of  the 
art  of  suggestion.  He  is  a  leader  rather  than  a 
teacher.  He  has  control  of  his  party  so  that  he 
may  entertain,  instruct,  and  command  without  their 
being  aware  that  he  is  ruling  with  a  hand  of  iron 
when  the  best  results  of  the  trip  demand  it. 

Good  outdoor  books  are  a  part  of  the  nature 
guide's   equipment   and   he   is   able   to   introduce 


A, 


\\% 


Photo  by  Enos  A.  Mills 

The  homesteader  and  nature  guide 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  NATURE  GUIDING    249 

others  to  good  nature  literature.  And  many  of 
the  eloquent  nature  lectures  and  much  of  the  out- 
door literature  of  the  world  may  in  the  nature  of 
things  be  produced  by  nature  guides. 

It  is  not  necessary  for  a  guide  to  be  a  walking 
encyclopedia.  He  does  not  need  to  impose  theories 
from  printed  authorities  nor  to  consider  nature 
books  infallible;  but  a  knowledge  of  the  leading 
nature  and  scientific  books  should  be  a  part  of  his 
equipment  and  may  become  a  part  of  the  enjoy- 
ment of  those  whom  he  interests.  And,  also,  the 
nature  guide  should  know  Shakespeare  and  many 
of  the  great  poems. 

A  nature  guide  is  not  a  guide  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  the  word,  and  is  not  a  teacher.  At  all 
times,  however,  he  has  been  rightfully  associated 
with  information  and  some  form  of  education. 
But  nature  guiding,  as  we  see  it,  is  more  inspirational 
than  informational. 

Vigilance  in  discouraging  the  picking  of  wild 
flowers  is  essential  in  any  guide. 

The  nature  guide  arouses  interest  by  dealing  in 
big  principles — not  with  detached  and  colourless 
information.  He  illustrates  the  principles  of  pol- 
lination, evolution,  glaciation,  migration  of  birds, 
mutual  aid,  and  the  fundamental  forces  of  nature 
wherever  he  goes.  He  deals  with  the  manners 
and  customs  of  bird  and  animal  life — the  deter- 
mining influences  of  their  environment  and  their 
respondent    tendencies— rather    than    with    their 


2 So    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

classification.  He  creates  more  permanent  in- 
terest in  the  biography  of  a  single  tree  than  in 
the  naming  of  many  trees. 

Fortunate  the  individual  who  has  nature  for  an 
outside  interest.  A  well-known  New  York  law- 
yer specializes  during  vacations  on  animal  life — 
any  animal — horse,  chipmunk,  or  dog;  this  he 
watches  and  enjoys.  It  is  well  for  each  outdoor 
individual  of  limited  time,  while  satisfying  a  gen- 
eral interest,  to  specialize  on  some  one  thing. 

A  guide  also  may  specialize,  but  when  he  is  out 
with  a  miscellaneous  party  he  needs  to  be  almost 
as  universal  as  Nature  herself. 

In  using  the  wondrous  wealth  of  natural  history 
the  nature  guide  has  extraordinary  opportunities. 
He  can  be  a  mighty  factor  in  helping  people  to 
determine  how  they  will  best  spend  their  leisure 
hours.  People  are  made  and  nations  perpetuated 
through  the  right  use  of  leisure  time. 

The  following  outline  is  a  plan  that  we  have 
used  effectively  in  arousing  interest  in  many  an 
object.  It  may  be  adapted  and  used  to  fix  in- 
terest upon  any  species  of  tree  or  plant,  bird  or 
animal;  with  modifications  used  in  discussing 
geology.  The  idea  of  this  plan  is  to  give  an 
interesting  biography  of  every  object  considered — 
its  name,  classification,  and  family  being  wholly 
secondary. 

Wind  and  water,  birds  and  animals,  scatter  tree 
seeds — give  them  adventurous   transportation   in 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  NATURE  GUIDING    251 

their  search  for  a  home.  Most  seeds  are  lost  or 
destroyed.  A  few  find  an  unoccupied  place  and 
start  to  grow.  Their  place  may  be  a  favourable 
or  unfavourable  one. 

A  little  tree  peeps  up  into  the  big  world  and  un- 
folds its  leaves.  It  may  be  eaten  by  insects  or  by 
animals,  burned  by  fire,  trampled  out,  or  uprooted. 
A  number  may  be  injured  and  still  live  on,  and  a 
few  grow  on  uninjured. 

Each  year  a  tree  puts  on  a  thin  coat  of  wood  on 
the  outside  just  beneath  the  bark.  This  coat 
grows  over  every  twig  and  limb  and  the  tree  trunk. 
A  tree  grows  higher  by  building  at  the  top.  A  limb 
on  the  side  that  a  small  boy  or  girl  can  just  reach  will 
never  be  any  farther  from  the  earth.  As  the  tree 
grows  larger  and  larger  it  may  be  preyed  upon  by 
ants,  borers,  beetles,  and  wood-lice,  by  gypsy 
moth  and  by  caterpillars.  But  the  chickadees, 
nuthatches,  and  other  birds  will  eat  the  wood- 
lice  and  the  caterpillars,  and  Dr.  Woodpecker  will 
dig  in  after  the  borers  and  beetles. 

Trees  live  from  forty  years  to  a  few  thousand 
years  of  age,  and  during  their  long  life  they  stand 
in  one  place.  They  cannot  travel,  cannot  run 
away  from  danger.  In  one  place  they  face  storm, 
wind,  and  drouth.  Every  tree  has  an  adventurous 
life.  It  is  a  home  for  the  birds,  it  shelters  plants, 
and  gives  shade  and  beauty  to  the  world.  It  may 
bear  fruit.  It  may  become  a  flag  pole  or  a  ship 
mast  and  sail  around  the  world. 


252  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

Some  trees  like  wet  places,  others  dry  places; 
some  cold  climates,  others  hot  climates. 

The  pollination  of  trees,  their  evolutionary  his- 
tory, their  geological  records,  ever  are  a  delight. 

Every  flower  that  blooms,  like  every  old  tree, 
has  an  adventurous  life,  a  brief  and  stirring  biog- 
raphy. So,  too,  has  every  piece  of  red  sand- 
stone, and  every  great  cobblestone  in  the  lowlands. 
The  red  stone  may  once  have  been  a  piece  of  dark 
granite  on  top  of  the  snowy  peak.  Or  the  cobble- 
stone may  have  been  torn  from  a  cliff  and  shaped 
by  a  glacier  that  carried  it  for  a  thousand  miles  or 
more.  Every  handful  of  soil  has  a  story  stranger 
than  any  produced  in  fairyland. 

The  above  plan  can  be  adjusted  and  adapted  to 
almost  any  subject  under  discussion. 

To  have  made  friends  with  one  tree  is  better  than 
to  have  learned  the  names  of  many  trees.  To 
have  shared  its  experiences  through  the  seasons,  to 
have  watched  the  play  of  sunlight  through  the 
branches,  the  storms  bursting  over  its  head,  the 
rain  deepening  the  colour  of  its  bark — this  is  to  feel 
the  universal  kinship  of  nature  whether  the  tree  be 
in  a  city  park,  is  a  lone  tree,  or  one  of  a  noble 
forest. 

Realizing  that  people  lose  so  much  through  their 
erroneous  beliefs,  I  am  trying  so  to  feature  the 
wilderness  world  that  children  will  early  adjust 
their  lives  to  its  splendid  influences. 

Altitude  is  helpful. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  NATURE  GUIDING    253 

No  American  animal  is  ferocious. 

Nature  must  be  classed  as  friendly. 

Wild  animals  and  birds  play  frequently  and  with 
enthusiasm. 

Nearly  all  species  of  birds  and  animals  arc  en- 
deared to  home — that  is,  they  live  within  the  bounds 
of  a  local  territory— and  many  have  a  permanent 
home. 

Nothing  equals  the  helpfulness  of  nature.  But 
unfortunately  the  vast  majority  of  people  sup- 
pressed by  busy  and  conventional  conditions  be- 
lieve that  outdoor  excursions  are  uncomfortable 
and  dangerous,  that  altitude  is  harmful,  that  most 
wild  animals  are  ferocious,  that  nature,  and  es- 
pecially the  weather,  is  unfriendly;  that  animals 
are  dull  beasts  led  by  instinct  and  are  irresponsible, 
wandering  gypsies;  on  the  whole,  it  is  believed 
that  nature  has  nothing  of  value  to  encourage  as- 
sociation with  it.  Nature  guides  can  help  in  hav- 
ing nature  appreciated  at  its  true  worth,  in  cul- 
tivating hospitality  to  changes  of  nature,  and  in 
welcoming  all  kinds  of  weather  and  each  new 
experience. 

Pioneer  men  and  women  have  in  all  ages  been 
famed  for  their  alertness  and  individuality.  They 
are  keen  and  alive  and  they  are  happy  to  be  living. 
Whitman  makes  the  astounding  assertion  that  all 
grand  poems,  all  heroic  deeds,  were  conceived  in  the 
open  air.  Certainly  it  is  true  that  nature  had 
something  to  do  with  the  education  and  the  in- 


254  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

spiration  of  many  of  the  great  men  and  women 
who  lived  heroic  lives,  who  did  much  to  promote 
the  glory  of  the  growing  world. 

The  magnificent  influence  of  nature  is  revealed 
by  many  poets.  Wordsworth  eloquently  pictures 
this  in  "Three  Years  She  Grew";  William  Cullen 
Bryant  in  "Thanatopsis";  and  Shakespeare  in 
many  lines,  especially  in  the  outburst  of  universal 
sympathy  in  King  Lear's  magnificent  prayer  on 
the  storm-wild  heath. 

Although  Australia  and  New  Zealand  were  set- 
tled chiefly  by  convicts,  these  convicts  under  an- 
other sun  and  sky,  with  new  opportunities  and  with 
the  many-sided  helpfulness  of  nature,  quickly 
developed  people  as  kind,  alert,  and  unselfish  as 
any  upon  the  globe. 

Mother  Nature  is  ever  ready  to  train  the  growing 
child.  By  using  our  wonderful  national  parks 
or  other  wild  places  we  may  give  the  boys  and  girls 
of  to-day  even  better  nature  training  than  the 
pioneers  received  from  their  environment.  Hux- 
ley says:  "Knowledge  gained  at  second  hand  from 
books  or  hearsay  is  infinitely  inferior  in  quality  to 
knowledge  gained  at  first  hand  by  direct  observa- 
tion and  experience  with  nature." 

The  poetic  interpretation  of  nature  was  a  promi- 
nent factor  in  the  education  of  Helen  Keller. 
In  "The  Story  of  My  Life,"  she  says: 

"  For  a  long  time  I  had  no  regular  lessons.  Even 
when  I  studied  most  earnestly  it  seemed  more  like 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  NATURE  GUIDING    255 

play  than  work.  Everything  Miss  Sullivan  taught 
me  she  illustrated  by  a  beautiful  story  or  a 
poem.  .  .  .  She  introduced  dry  technicalities 
of  science  little  by  little,  making  every  subject  so 
real  that  I  could  not  help  remembering  what  she 
taught." 

Darwin,  who  appears  to  be  the  most  influential 
man  of  the  last  century,  was  anything  but  a  hook- 
man.  He  met  the  requirements  of  school  and 
college  with  difficulty  and  with  reluctance.  But 
field  excursions  aroused  his  powers  and  gave  splen- 
did purpose  to  his  life. 

Elizabeth  Cady  Stanton,  as  a  little  girl,  was  fas- 
cinated with  running  water,  moonlight,  and  the 
mystery  and  sounds  of  the  night.  Often  after  the 
nurse  had  tucked  her  in  she  climbed  out  on  the 
window  sill  and  sat  listening  and  wondering  for  an 
hour  or  two. 

As  a  boy  Humboldt  was  kept  out  of  school  and 
encouraged  to  ramble  in  the  wilds,  thus  developim: 
initiative  and  independence.  Humboldt  and  Lin- 
coln appear  to  have  been  chiefly  indebted  to  na- 
ture for  their  vision  which  they  afterward  helped 
realize  for  the  world. 

Froebel  appreciated  the  value  of  natural  history 
material  for  little  children. 

Charles  G.  Adams,  perhaps  the  leading  author- 
ity on  ecology,  has  pointed  out  the  significance  of 
the  response  of  animal  and  plant  life  to  environ- 
ment. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    DEVELOPMENT   OF   A   WOMAN   GUIDE 

A  NUMBER  of  nature  guides  are  women. 
Their  number  will  increase.  Their  work  is 
identical  with  that  of  men  guides.  In  this 
chapter  are  glimpses  of  some  of  the  field  expe- 
riences and  some  of  the  driving  forces  of  environ- 
ment that  resulted  in  producing  one  woman  na- 
ture guide.  The  name  of  this  woman  is  omitted 
at  her  request. 

"  She's  the  woman  who  made  the  fifteen-mile 
moonlight  walk  across  the  mountains  in  the  snow," 
said  one  of  the  waiting  group,  as  a  young  lady  in 
knickerbockers,  having  adjusted  the  snowshoes 
strapped  across  her  shoulders,  left  the  post- 
office. 

"Oh,"  said  another,  "that  was  nothing  com- 
pared with  the  thirty-mile  trip  which  she  made 
alone  across  the  Range." 

"Evidently  she  is  a  woman  with  a  purpose  in 
life,"  remarked  the  postmaster,  looking  out  the 
window  at  the  graceful  figure  swinging  easily  up  the 
street.  "She  came  out  here  from  the  East  last  fall 
determined  to  become  a  good  mountaineer,  and 
took  up  a  homestead  near  MacGregor  Pass.     She 

259 


26o    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

knows  college  and  business  life  and  her  own  mind, 
and  apparently  she  knows  how  to  walk  and  enjoy 
it.  Undoubtedly  she  will  make  good  in  her  ambi- 
tions to  succeed  out  of  doors.'' 

This  homesteader  had  seen  twenty-seven  sum- 
mers and  life  had  agreed  with  her.  Her  hair  was 
red,  and  so,  too,  were  her  cheeks.  She  was  five 
feet  five,  and  weighed  about  one  hundred  and 
twenty.  She  had  walked  down  to  the  village  this 
November  afternoon  from  her  cabin  four  miles 
away,  to  get  the  week's  accumulated  mail  and  a 
few  provisions.  Darkness  was  already  settling 
down  over  the  pine-purpled  mountains  when  she 
stopped  to  make  a  call.  But  she  was  not  afraid 
of  the  dark — rather,  she  enjoyed  night  walks  and 
walks  in  all  weather. 

"It  is  too  late  for  you  to  think  of  going  home 
to-night,"  said  Mrs.  Pond  when  her  caller  began 
adjusting  her  shoulder  pack.  "It  will  be  dark  be- 
fore you  can  reach  the  canon.  Stay  with  us  and 
go  to  Mrs.  Samuel's  card  party." 

"No,"  was  the  reply,  "I  must  get  home." 

Then  Mr.  Pond  came  in  to  offer  hospitality  and 
advice  and  to  enter  objections  against  her  going.  I 
He  remarked  that  bears  had  been  recently  seen  near  j 
the  canon. 

"Well,  I'll  certainly  start  at  once,"  said  the 
homesteader,  smiling;  "I  have  been  wishing  I 
might  see  a  bear." 

And  off  she  started  alone  through  the  snow. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  A  WOMAN  GUIDE      261 

And  why  had  this  young  woman  given  up  business 
to  mountaineer  ? 

A  consulting  decorator  for  a  nation-wide  business 
firm  and  in  love  with  her  job,  she  overworked  and 
eventually  had  a  nervous  breakdown.  During  the 
months  of  enforced  rest  she  had  had  time  to  think, 
and  did  so.  Many  things  in  business  life,  she  had 
decided,  were  wearing  without  seeming  really  neces- 
sary or  worth  while.  Once  in  a  routine  of  work,  the 
average  individual  ceases  to  grow — ceases  to  be 
the  architect  of  his  own  fate.  She  found  herself 
wishing  to  get  away  from  the  city  with  its  exacting 
demands,  to  a  simple  form  of  existence  where 
money,  people,  and  society  were  secondary.  Then 
came  the  opportunity  to  homestead. 

It  was  dark  when  she  reached  home  from  the 
village.  After  building  a  fire  she  sat  down  to 
read  her  letters.  One  was  from  the  New  York 
classmate  whom  she  had  invited  to  share  her  cabin 
and  her  mountain  experiences.  Her  distressed 
artist  friend,  after  thinking  over  the  matter  for  a 
number  of  weeks,  at  last  wrote : 

"You  are  nearly  as  crazy — yes,  I  guess  you  are 
a  little  farther  gone  than  I  am.  Your  letter  thril- 
led me  to  death,  I  assure  you,  but  being  East  in  a 
comfortable,  steam-heated  home,  two  stories  up, 
I  can't  help  but  wonder  how  it  could  be  done,  and 
we  come  out  of  it  alive.  I  always  did  and  always 
shall  want  to  come  West,  but  I  must  say  I  never 
quite  worked  myself  up  to  thinking  I  could  really 


262  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

enjoy  living  in  the  midst  of  the  great  unknown  in 
a  log  cabin  with  one  other  person,  and  that  person 
no  stronger  than  myself,  with  no  conveniences, 
and  likely  to  be  completely  buried  in  snow  at  any 
minute. 

"Now,  if  this  hadn't  been  actually  put  before 
me  as  a  proposition,  my  theorizing  might  picture 
it  as  the  most  wonderful  experience  I  could  wish 
for — yes,  I  should  love  to  be  snowed  in  and  have 
wolves  howl  outside,  and  get  the  whole  atmosphere 
thoroughly  absorbed  into  my  system,  as  you  prob- 
ably have  done  already.  ...  I  wonder  if 
you  have  sort  of  gone  crazy  about  the  place,  the 
way  those  wanderers  do  who  go  into  the  mountains 
and  never  come  back.  If  so,  I  think  you  need  a 
guardian.  You  must  have  some  strong  person 
with  you,  and  a  dog,  a  big  dog.  Where  is  the 
nearest  doctor?  Facts  are  not  pleasant  things 
to  rub  into  your  dreams  when  you're  dreaming, 
but  they're  mighty  pleasant  things  when  you're 
living." 

The  wild  predictions  of  the  city  lady,  who  had  no 
knowledge  of  the  romance  of  homesteading,  and 
was  without  sympathy  for  the  simple,  splendid  life 
that  may  be  lived  in  the  mountain  frontier,  did  not 
come  true. 

City  people  and  others  have  listed  several  ab- 
solute necessities  for  every  homesteader:  a  gun,  a 
dog  or  a  cat,  a  sewing  machine,  a  victrola,  a  tele- 
phone, a  burro,  and,  of  course,  a  companion.     This 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  A  WOMAN  GUIDE 
independent,  individual  homesteader  possessed 
none  of  these  so-called  essentials,  but  she  had  a 
greater  possession  than  they  could  have  given  her. 
She  had  "Happiness."  In  these  lines  you  have  a 
good  glimpse  of  her  life  and  of  herself  during  her 
first  winter  of  homesteading: 

Happiness 

My  lot  is  a  strangely  happy  one, 

Though  far  from  the  busy  mart; 
I  live  on  my  homestead  all  alone, 

With  ever  a  song  in  my  heart. 

And  if  perchance  I  tire  of  home 

Away  and  away  I  go — 
To  gypsy  by  a  stony  brook, 

Or  camp-fire  in  the  snow. 

When  wily  wind  blows  fierce  and  strong, 

Or  cloud  and  mist  allure, 
I  don  my  very  oldest  togs, 

And  picnic  then  for  sure. 

My  thoughts  are  as  free  as  the  mountain  air, 

And  never  a  care  have  I: 
Where  I  live  alone  in  a  little  hut 

And  not  even  the  road  goes  by! 

In  this  mountain  frontier  neighbours  are  sepa- 
rated by  magnificent  distances.  Yet  this  young 
woman  visited  all  her  homestead  neighbours, 
journeying  from  two  to  sixteen  miles  on  foot  Last 
Christmas  she  and  one  of  the  other  women  home- 


264    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

steaders  who  lived  fifteen  miles  away  walked  to  a 
midway  place  and  had  a  merry  camp-fire  lunch 
among  the  pines.  Alone  she  explored  the  forests 
and  canons.  She  climbed  peaks,  studied  trees, 
and  watched  birds,  beavers,  mountain  sheep,  and 
other  wild  life.  All  alone,  winter  as  well  as  sum- 
mer, she  made  excursions,  camping  wherever  night 
overtook  her.  Sometimes,  too,  she  tramped  by 
moonlight. 

Many  an  evening  in  a  wind-sheltered  nook  in 
the  woods  she  cooked  a  scanty  supper  in  the  edge 
of  a  friendly  camp-fire.  After  supper,  if  there  was 
sufficient  wood  at  hand  for  the  night,  she  sat  for 
a  time  watching  the  fire  and  thinking  such  thoughts 
as  a  lone,  outdoor  woman  thinks.  Often  she 
wandered  from  the  fire,  better  to  have  a  look  at  the 
starry  landmarks  in  the  wide  and  trail-less  sky. 
After  a  few  hours  of  perfect  sleep  in  a  sleeping  bag 
she  rose  early  and  eagerly  watched  for  the  fires 
of  sunrise  from  some  commanding  crag. 

Her  homestead  consists  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty  acres  of  mountain  scenery,  much  of  which 
is  on  edge.  The  land  is  covered  with  scattered 
growths  of  western  yellow  pine,  Douglass  spruce, 
and  quaking  aspen — the  fairy  aspen  of  which  she 
has  written  so  charmingly.  A  granite  cliff  towers 
several  hundred  feet  above  the  house.  From  her 
front  door  you  look  westward  up  Fall  River  can- 
on, and  beyond  where  the  snowy  peaks  of  the 
Continental  Divide  go  far  up  into  the  sky.     In 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  A  WOMAN  GUIDE      265 

front  of  the  house  is  a  garden  of  a  few  acres.  Just 
outside  her  window  is  a  table  for  birds.  Chicka- 
dees and  camp-birds  were  the  only  callers  while  I 
watched.  Occasionally  wild  mountain  sheep  and 
deer  confidingly  follow  an  old  game  trail  near  the 
cabin. 

The  cabin  in  which  she  lived  alone  was  called 
"  Keewaydin,"  the  Indian  name  for  the  North- 
west or  home  wind.  She  drew  the  plans  for 
it  and  helped  to  build  it;  designed  her  furniture 
and  made  a  number  of  the  pieces. 

Any  one  with  a  nose  for  news  would  have  seen 
a  story  in  the  life  of  this  young  woman.  When 
I  called  to  get  the  story  there  was  more  reserve 
than  I  expected  to  find  in  an  art-school  graduate. 

"I  understand  that  you  helped  shingle  your 
house/'  I  said,  hoping  to  start  her  talking  con- 
cerning building  craft. 

She  smiled  and  answered:  "Yes,  the  report  was 
out  that  I  shingled  as  fast  as  a  man,  and  if  it  is  still 
circulating  it  may  be  faster  now!" 

Knowing  that  friends  had  accused  her  of  loaf- 
ing— "of  wasting  her  best  years  homesteading,"  I 
asked:  "Have  you  read  Stevenson's  ' Apology  for 
Idlers?'" 

Instantly  she  flashed  up,  but  with  face  melting 
into  a  smile,  replied:  "If  you  really  have  absorbed 
it  and  appreciate  it,  I'll  say  cyes'-"  And  then  she 
added:  "But  it  is  not  necessary  to  write  a  book, 
create  a  masterpiece,  or  evolve  some  labour-saving 


266    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

device  for  the  recluse  to  feel  justified  in  separating 
himself  from  the  affairs  of  the  world.  If  he  values 
the  power  that  lies  in  simple  things  and  the  height 
and  breadth  of  vision  that  comes  from  a  close 
contact  with  nature,  that  is  sufficient.  An  over- 
powering desire  to  get  away  from  the  superficialities 
of  life  can  only  be  satisfied  by  taking  up  that  un- 
fettered existence  where  truth  is  unvarnished  and 
beauty  is  undented.  No,  it  does  not  require  cour- 
age to  do  what  you  want  to  do — to  homestead,  for 
instance — but  it  did  take  courage  to  say  'no'  to  the 
directing  advice  of  relatives  and  intimate  friends." 

"And  why  homestead?"  I  asked,  feeling  that 
she  fully  appreciated  the  higher  opportunities  that 
go  with  homesteading. 

"Our  ancestors,"  she  began,  after  a  few  minutes' 
thought,  "who  pioneered  either  through  choice  or 
necessity,  laboured  that  their  children  and  their 
children's  children  might  be  'better  off'  than  them- 
selves. But  is  it  not  for  each  of  us  to  decide  anew 
just  what  is  'better'  for  ourselves,  and  for  those 
with  whom  and  for  whom  we  are  living  of  the  pres- 
ent and  of  the  future?  Does  the  'better  off'  lie 
in  vainly  struggling  to  outdo  our  neighbours  in 
accumulating  possessions?  Or  will  we  find  it  by 
holding  on  to  those  fine,  sturdy,  fundamental 
qualities  that  make  for  strength  of  body  and  hap- 
piness of  spirit  ?  The  test  of  all  effort  should  be 
not  how  much  it  gives  us,  but  how  deeply  it  makes 
us  live." 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  A  WOMAN  GUIDE      267 

Realizing  that  she  had  carefully  considered  all 
sides  of  the  subject,  I  waited  for  her  to  continue. 
Her  views  of  homesteading  were  convincing,  as  she 
disclosed  them  further: 

"A  homestead  offers  infinite  opportunities  for 
self-development  and  enjoyment.  Here  time  is  the 
willing  slave  rather  than  the  compelling  master; 
here  a  hobby  may  be  ridden  with  a  reckless  aban- 
don or  with  a  prolonged  exactitude  impossible  in 
the  routine  of  city  life.  And,  if  your  leaning  is 
along  the  line  of  nature  study,  fortunate  are  you, 
indeed,  if  you  have  no  other  companions  than  those 
faithful  allies  of  the  brain — keen  ears  and  eyes. 
Who  is  there  who  would  not  enjoy,  for  a  time  at 
least,  the  unbroken  silences  and  all-enveloping 
solitude  of  a  hermit's  habitation  ?  Who  would  not 
appreciate  an  opportunity  to  allow  the  mind  and 
heart  to  travel  together  on  limitless  journeys  into 
the  past  and  future,  gathering  facts,  creating  fan- 
cies, that  mould  and  shape  new  and  bigger  concep- 
tions of  life?" 

The  warm  feelings  of  this  woman,  whom  the 
world  would  regard  as  a  self-exile,  again  and  again 
reminded  me  of  the  words  of  the  exile  who  wrote : 
"Life's  more  than  breath  and  the  quick  round  of 
blood."  She  is  creative  and  courageous.  Her 
refreshing  enthusiasms  are  coloured  with  high 
ideals.  Of  course  she  has  definite  ideas  concerning 
education.  She  feels  that  schools  are  too  much 
given  to  memorizing  and  too  little  to  developing  the 


268    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

powers  of  performance;  that  the  senses  are  neg- 
lected; individuality  and  the  creative  faculty  sup- 
pressed; and  the  wonderlight  of  imagination  ex- 
tinguished. 

I  was  thinking  that  before  long  she  might  do 
something  big,  so  universal  were  her  sympathies, 
and  I  finally  asked: 

"  You  have  become  a  good  mountaineer,  you  also 
appreciate  the  facts  and  the  poetry  of  natural 
history,  why  not  become  a  translator  of  the  great 
book  of  nature?" 

"For  years,"  she  replied,  "I  have  wished  that 
others  might  have  the  strange  delight  from  nature 
that  I  enjoy.  And  I  have  been  trying  to  develop 
myself  so  that  I  might  give  its  appeal  to  people." 

"This  can  be  done,"  I  said,  "you  are  fitted  for  a 
guiding  career." 

The  outings  which  she  enjoyed  usually  were  made 
alone  and  sometimes  they  were  adventurous.  The 
nearest  settlement  on  the  other  side  of  the  Conti- 
nental Divide  is  thirty  miles  away.  This  is  reached 
by  trail — a  trip  across  the  summit,  12,500  feet 
above  the  sea,  and  then  down  through  fifteen  miles 
of  rugged,  forested  mountains.  She  resolved  to 
make  this  journey  afoot  and  without  a  guide. 

She  had  been  on  the  summit  mid-winter,  but  this 
snowshoe  trip  was  less  eventful  than  her  spring 
experience.  It  was  a  trip  that  few  men  had  made 
alone,  and  local  people  had  concluded  that  a 
woman  could  not  make  it  if  she  tried.     Her  success 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  A  WOMAN  GUIDE      269 

literally  startled  the  natives  both  sides  of  the 
Divide. 

It  was  late  spring  and  the  winter  accumulations 
of  snow  were  soft,  melting  rapidly,  and  flooding 
water  everywhere.  Snow-drifts  and  soggy  places  full 
of  flowers  covered  the  steep  and  dangerously  slip- 
pery slopes.  But  she  reached  the  summit  by  noon. 
After  eating  a  lunch  on  these  heights,  more  than  a 
thousand  feet  above  the  limits  of  tree  growth,  she 
started  down  the  icy  steeps  into  unknown  wilds. 
She  crossed  the  debris  of  recent  land  and  snow 
slides.  Everything  was  slippery,  slipping,  or  ready 
to  slide.  But  she  came  down  to  timberline  without 
starting  anything  and  without  a  slide  herself. 

Then  for  ten  miles  the  trail  led  through  deep 
snow-drifts  and  swollen  streams.  She  crossed  on 
doubtful  logs;  sometimes  with  the  logs  under  water 
she  hitched  across  astride  the  log  in  the  roaring 
current.  In  places  she  waded  to  her  knees.  Just 
as  darkness  was  settling  down,  all  bedraggled,  but 
enthusiastic,  she  arrived  at  the  end  of  her  journey. 
She  took  a  longer,  less  perilous  way  returning — a 
two-day  trip  that  gave  her  new,  though  less  rugged, 
scenes. 

This  outdoor  woman  had  a  purpose — a  vision. 
Daily  she  accumulated  experience  and  informa- 
tion. These  she  handled  like  an  artist.  She  held 
on  to  the  essentials  only  and  made  these  enrich  her 
life.  Then,  too,  she  had  wide  sympathies  and  in 
improving  her  opportunities  to  learn  and  grow  it 


270    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NATURE  GUIDE 

was  with  the  idea  of  being  able  to  serve  others. 
She  had  steadily  developed  since  the  day  she  ar- 
rived.    She  had  secured  leisure  and  had  used  it. 

Last  summer  she  was  a  nature  guide — an  in- 
terpreter of  nature — in  the  Rocky  Mountain  Na- 
tional Park,  licensed  by  the  Government.  Old 
people  gave  her  their  attention,  children  were  ex- 
citedly interested,  and  everyone  was  exercising  and 
learning  all  at  once.  A  trip  with  a  nature  guide 
is  a  rare  influence  for  children.  Eagerly  they  look 
and  they  listen;  they  see,  they  search,  and  they 
think.  It  is  an  alluring  and  most  effective  way  of 
arousing  the  child  mind  so  that  it  wants  to  know, 
so  that  it  starts  investigating  and  exploring,  so  that 
it  insists  on  finding  out. 

This  new  occupation  is  likely  to  be  far-reaching 
in  its  influences;  it  is  inspirational  and  educational. 
Any  one  who  has  a  vacation  or  an  outing  in  contact 
with  nature  will  have  from  the  great  outdoors  its 
higher  values  as  well  as  a  livelier  enjoyment  if  ac- 
companied by  a  nature  guide. 

Many  of  the  visitors  to  national  parks  are  na- 
ture enthusiasts,  they  appreciate  having  someone 
out  with  them  who  can  interpret  some  of  the 
wealth  of  local  nature  lore.  There  is  geology,  the 
story  of  the  glacial  landscapes,  the  ways  of  resident 
birds  and  the  birds  that  come  from  southland  for 
summer  and  to  nest;  beaver  houses,  Bighorn  moun- 
tain sheep,  brilliant  Arctic  flowers,  the  habits  of 
trees,  and  the  romance  of  everything. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  A  WOMAN  GUIDE      271 

Although  everyone  has  inherited  outdoor  in- 
stincts which  awaken  with  opportunity,  yet,  so 
long  have  most  people  been  segregated  from  con- 
tact with  the  primeval— wild  flowers,  wild  life,  and 
crumbling,  half-vine-concealed  cliffs— that  they  wel- 
come an  intelligent  and  tactful  interpreter  of  na- 
ture's ways.  Such  a  guide  enriches  the  outing, 
fills  it  with  information,  enjoyment,  and  vision. 

A  nature  guide  is  doing  the  work  of  the  world. 
Our  homesteader  had  the  art  and  the  vision  which 
enabled  her  to  make  these  outings  permanent, 
purposeful,  growth-compelling  experiences.  They 
had  none  of  the  movie  madness,  nor  the  legend- 
diverting  magic,  but  they  gave  a  definite  contact 
with  the  real  world  of  life.  Nature-guided  excur- 
sions are  educational  and  possess  astounding  pos- 
sibilities for  arousing  the  feelings  and  developing 
the  unlimited  resources  of  the  mind. 

No,  this  young  woman  was  not  wasting  her  time 
homesteading;  it  enriched  her  life,  filled  it  with 
eagerness  and  delight.  "To  miss  the  joy  is  to  miss 
all,"  says  Stevenson  in  his  immortal  "Lantern 
Bearers."  She  is  not  missing  it.  The  world  may 
not  know  it,  but  she  is  as  happy  as  Stevenson's 
boy  with  the  precious  hidden  lantern  on  his  belt. 
In  the  work  of  nature  guiding  she  has  found  her 
place. 


THE  END 


* 


BOUND     TO     PLEASE 


^r^       OCT.  65 

T^V^1^     N.    MANCHESTER. 
;  ^^y  INDIANA 


